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F I R M I L I A N . 

T. ■ Tragedy/' pronounced to be one of the cleverest satire? cf the 
a^e, ranking with Canning's Anti- Jacobin pfjpersj and the amusing 
reprojluetJbn3 of different authors in tne Rejected Addresses, is from 
the pen of AY. E. Aytoun, the son-in-law of Christopher North, (the late 
poet Wilson*} the pressnt editor of Blackwood's Magazine, and one of the 
joint writers of the " Bon Gaultier" Ballads; and author, himself, of the 
Juqys of the Scottish Cavaliers, acknowledged to be the b^st poems of the 
kiml since Sin Walter Scott's " Lay" and "Marmipn." Fiumilian is 
a hit at many vulnerable authors of the day, as Caelvle, Gilfillan, 
Tennyson, and particularly Alexander Smith, whSse M fiife Tragedy" 
probably suggested the work. The various extravagances of these 
authors are hit off in the poem of Firmilian. As a key to the person- 
ages, T. Percy Jones is doubtless Smith ; Apoliodorus is Gilullan, as a 
representative of the poetical puffing school ; Mariana is in compliment 
to Tennyson ; the Uncle Tom School is in for a pretty lard hit ; 
while much of the machinery is a travesty of Festus and Faust. The 
versification is as good as the wit, and both are exquisite. The work 
originated in a quizzing article by its author, which attracted great 
attention, a few months since, in Blaclwcod. 



EJoiy Published, by the same Author: 

THE BOOK OF BALLADS: Edited by Bon Gaultier. 
IIS OF THE SCOTTISH CAVALIERS. 

Ea Preparation : 

THE DUXSIIUXXEU PAPERS: By vr. e. Vytoun. i2mo. 

POETICAL PARODIES : By W. E. Aytoun. 12mo. 

A L S O : 

SATIRE AXD SATIRISTS: By James Hannay; a companion voluma 
to Haslitt's Comic Writers, and Thackeray's English Humorists. 



U 



FIRMILIAN 



"SPASMODIC" TRAGEDY 



BY 



T. PERCY JONES 







p Or CC/V 




EEDFIELD, 



110 AND 112 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 

1 854. 



Tff 



H-CX+7 



ff 



I U Y 



PREFACE 



As several passages of the following Poem 
have appeared in the pages of periodicals, I 
consider it an act of justice to myself to lay 
the whole before the public. I am not at all 
deterred by the fear of hostile criticism — I be- 
lieve that no really good thing was ever injured 
by criticism ; and, so far from entertaining an 
angry feeling towards the gentlemen who have 
noticed my work, I thank them for having 
brought me forward. 



IV PREFACE. 

It is a common practice, now-a-4ays, for j^oets 
to appeal to the tender mercies of the public, by 
issuing prefaces in which they acknowledge, in 
as many words, the weakness and poverty of 
their verse. If the acknowledgment is sincere, 
how can they expect the public to show them 
any favor? If it is a mere hypocritical affec- 
tation, it were better omitted. And the practice 
is unwise as it is absurd. What would we think 
of the manufacturer who should entreat us to 
buy his goods, because they were of an inferior 
kind, or of the tradesman who should deliber- 
ately announce that his stock was of a poor 
quality? For my part, if I conscientiously be- 
lieved that my poetry was not w T orthy of ad- 
miration, I never would commit the impertinence 
of asking any one to read it. 

There has been, of late, much senseless talk 



i'liKFACK. V 

about "schools of poetry;" and it has been said, 
on the strength of the internal evidence afforded 
by some passages in my play, that I have joined 
the ranks, and uphold the tenets, of those who 
belong to " the Spasmodic School." I deny the 
allegation altogether. I belong to no school, 
except that of nature ; and I acknowledge the 
authority of no living master. But, lest it should 
be thought that I stand in terror of a nick-name 
— the general bugbear to young authors — I have 
deliberately adopted the title of "'Spasmodic," 
and have applied it in the title-page to my 
tragedy. It is my firm opinion that all high 
poetry island must be spasmodic. Remove that 
element from Lear — from Othello — from Mac- 
beth — from any of the great works which refer 
to the conflict of the passions — and what would 
be the residue ? A mere caput mortuum. I 



VI PREFACE. 

differ from those who regard verse and poetry 
as being one and the same thing; or who look 
upon a collection of glittering conceits, and 
appropriate similes as the highest proof of poet- 
ical accomplishment. The office of poetry is to 
exhibit the passions in that state of excitement 
which distinguishes one from the other; and, 
until a dramatic author has learned this secret, 
all the fine writing in the world will avail him 
nothing. Oato is perhaps the best-written tra- 
gedy in the English language ; and yet, what 
man in his senses would dream of reading 
Cato twice ? 

I have been accused of extravagance, princi- 
pally, I presume, on account of the moral obli- 
quity of the character of Firmilian. To that I 
reply, that the moral of a play does not depend 
upon the morals of any one character depicted 



PREFACE. Vll 

in it ; and that many of the characters drawn by 
the magic pencil of Shakespeare are shaded as 
deep, or even deeper, than Firmilian. Set him 
beside Iago, Richard III., or the two Macbeths, 
and I venture to say that he will not look dark 
in comparison. Consider carefully the character 
of Hamlet, and you will find that he is very 
nearly as selfish as Firmilian. Hamlet is said to 
shadow forth " Constitutional Irresolution ;" — my 
object in Firmilian has been to typify "Intel- 
lect without Principle." 

If the extravagance is held to lie in the con- 
ception and handling of my subject, then I assert 
fearlessly that the same charge may be preferred 
with greater reason against Goethe's masterpiece, 
the Faust. I have not considered it necessary 
to evoke the Devil in my pages — I have not 
introduced the reader to the low buffooneries of 



Vlll PREFACE. 



Auerbacli's cellar, or to the Witch with her 
hybrid apes — nor have I indulged in the weird 
revelries and phantasmagoria of the Brocken. I 
do not presume to blame Goethe for his use of 
such material, any more than I should think of 
impugning Shakespeare for the Ghost in Hamlet, 
or the Witches in Macbeth. I merely wish to 
show that the "utter extravagance" which some 
writers affect to have discovered in my play, is 
traceable only to their own defects in high ima- 
ginative development. 

If I am told that the character of Firmilian 
is not only extravagant, but utterly without a 
parallel in nature, I shall request my critic to 
revise his opinion after he has perused the histo- 
ries of Madame de Brinvilliers and the Borgias. 

I am perfectly aware that this poem is un- 
equal, and that some passages of it are inferior, 



PREFACE. IX 

in interest to others. Such was my object, for 
I am convinced that there can be no beauty 
without breaks and undulation. 

I am not arrogant enough to assert that this 
is the finest poem which the age has produced ; 
but I shall feel very much obliged to any 
gentleman who can make me acquainted with 
a better. 

T. PERCY JONES. 
Stekatham, July, 1854. 



DRAMATIS PERSONS. 



Firmilian, The Student of Badajoz. 
Haverillo, a Poet. 

Alphonzo D'Aguilar, \ 

„ _ I Students and Friends of 

Garcia Perez, > J 

. _ l Firmilian. 

Alonzo Olivarez, ) 

Chief Inquisitor. 

An Old Inquisitor. 

Balthazar, } 

V Familiars of the Inquisition. 
Gil of Santillane, ) 

Nicodemus, Firmilian s Servant. 

Priest of St. Nicholas. 

A Graduate. 

Two Gentlemen of Badajoz. 

Confessor. 

Fabian, Steicard to the Countess D'Aguilar. 

Apollodorus, a Critic. 

Sancho, a Costermonger. 

The Countess DAguilar. 

Mariana. 

Lilian. 

Indiana. 

The Scene of the Play is Badajoz and its neighborhood. 



FIRMILIAN 



SCENE I. 

Firmilian in his study reading. 

Three hours of study — and what gain thereby ? 

My brain is reeling to attach the sense 

Of what I read, as a drunk mariner 

Who, stumbling o'er the bulwark, makes a clutch 

At the wild incongruity of ropes, 

And topples into mud ! 

Good Aristotle ! 
Forgive me if I lay thee henceforth by, 



14 F I R M I L I A N . 

And seek some other teacher. Thou hast been, 

For many hundred years, the bane and curse 

Of all the budding intellect of man. 

Thine earliest pupil, Alexander — he 

The most impulsive and tumultuous sprite 

That ever spurned old systems at the heel, 

And dashed the dust of action in the eyes 

Of the slow porers over antique shards — 

Hold thee, at twenty, an especial fool. 

And why ? The grand God-impulse in his heart 

That drove him over the oblique domain 

Of Asia and her kingdoms, and that urged 

Ilis meteor leap at Porus' giant throat — 

Or the sublime illusion of the sense 

Which gave to Thais that tremendous torch 

Whence whole Persepolis was set on fire — 

Was never kindled surely by such trash 

As I, this night, have heaped upon my brain ! 

Hence, vile impostor ! 

\FVmg8 away the hnolc. 



FIRMILIAN. 15 

Who shall take his place ? 
What hoary dotard of antiquity 
Shall I invite to dip his clumsy foot 
Within the limpid fountain of my mind, 
And stamp it into foulness ? Let me see — 
Following Salerno's doctrine, human lore 
Divides itself into three faculties, 
The Eden rivers of the intellect. 
There's Law, Theology, and Medicine, 
And all beyond their course is barren ground. 
So say the Academics ; and they're right, 
If learning's to be measured by its gains. 
The lawyer speaks no word without a fee — 
The Priest demands his tithes, and will not sing 
A gratis mass to help his brother's soul. 
The purgatorial key is made of gold : 
None else will fit the wards ; — and for the Doctor, 
The good kind man who lingers by your couch, 
Compounds you pills and potions, feels your pulse, 
And takes especial notice of your tongue, 



1G FIRMILIAN. 

If you allow him once to leave the room 
Without the proper greasing of his palm, 
Look out for Azrael ! 

So, then, these three 
Maintain the sole possession of the schools ; 
Whilst, out of doors, amidst the sleet and rain, 
Thin-garbed Philosophy sits shivering down, 
And shares a mouldy crust with Poetry ! 

And shall I then take Celsus for my guide, 

Confound my brain with dull Justinian's tomes, 

Or stir the dust that lies o'er Augustine ? 

Not I, in faith ! I've leaped into the air, 

And clove my way through ether, like a bird 

That flits beneath the glimpses of the moon, 

Right eastward, till I lighted at the foot 

Of holy Helicon, and drank my fill 

At the clear spout of Aganippe's stream. 

I've rolled my limbs in ecstasy along 

The self-same turf on which old Homer lay 



FIRMILIANt 17 

That night he dreamed of Helen and of Troy : 

And I have heard, at midnight, the sweet strains 

Come quiring from the hill-top, where, enshrined 

In the rich foldings of a silver cloud, 

The Muses sang Apollo into sleep. 

Then came the voice of universal Pan, 

The dread earth-whisper, booming in mine car — 

" Rise up, Firmilian — rise in might !'" it said ; 

" Great youth, baptized to song ! Be it thy task, 

Out of the jarring discords of the world, 

To recreate stupendous harmonies 

More grand in diapason than the roll 

Among the mountains of the thunder-psalm ! 

Be thou no slave of passion. Let not love, 

Pity, remorse, nor any other thrill 

That sways the actions of ungifted men, 

Affect thy course. Live for thyself alone. 

Let appetite thy ready handmaid be, 

And pluck all fruitage from the tree of life, 

Be it forbidden or no. If any comes 



18 Fill MI L I A N . 

Between thee and the purpose of thy bent, 
Launch thou the arrow from the string of might 
Right to the bosom of the impious wretch, 
And let it quiver there ! Be great in guilt ! 
If, like Busiris, thou canst rack the heart, 
Spare it no pang. So shalt thou be prepared 
To make thy song a tempest, anol to shake 
The earth to its foundation — Go thy way !" 
I woke, and found myself in Badajoz. 
But from that day, with frantic might, I've striven 
To give due utterance to the awful shrieks 
Of him who first imbued his hand in gore, - 
To paint the mental spasms that tortured Cain ! 
How have I done it ? Feebly. What we write 
Must be the reflex of the thing we know ; 
For who can limn the morning, if his eyes 
Have never looked upon Aurora's face ? 
Or who describe the cadence of the sea, 
Whose ears were never open to the waves 
Or the shrill winding of the Triton's horn ? 



F IKMILI A N . 19 

What do I know as yet of homicide ? 

Nothing. Fool — fool ! to lose thy precious time 

In dreaming of what may be, when an act 

Easy to plan, and easier to effect, 

Can teach thee everything ! What — craven mind— 

Shrink'st thou from doing, for a noble aim, 

What, every hour, some villain, wretch or slave 

Dares for a purse of gold % It is resolved — 

I'll ope the lattice of some mortal cage, 

And let the soul go free ! 

A draught of wine ! (Drinks.) 
Ha ! this revives me ! How the nectar thrills 
Like joy through all my frame ! There's not a god 
In the Pantheon that can rival thee, 
Thou purple-lipped Lyseus ! And thou'rt strong 
As thou art bounteous. Were I Ganymede, 
To stand beside the pitchers at the feast 
Of the Olympian revel, and to give 
The foaming cups to Hebe — how I'd laugh 
To see thee trip up iron Vulcan's heels, 



20 FIBMILIAN. 

Prostrate old Neptune, and fling bullying Mars, 
With all his weight of armor on his back, 
Down with a clatter on the heavenly floor ! 
Not Jove himself dare risk a fall with thee, 
Lord of the panthers ! Lo, I drink again, 
And the high purpose of my soul grows firm. 
As the sweet venom circles in my veins — 
It is resolved ! Come, then, mysterious Guilt, 
Thou raven-mother, come— and fill my cup 
With thy black beverage ! I am sworn to thee, 
And will not falter ! 

But the victim? That 
Requires a pause of thought — 

I must begin 
With some one dear to me, or else the deed 
Would lose its flavor and its poignancy. 
Now, let me see. There's Lilian, pretty maid — 
The tender, blushing, yielding Lilian — 
She loves me but too well. What if I saved 
Her young existence from all future throes, 



FIRMILIAN. 21 

And laid her pallid on an early bier ? 
Why, that were mercy both to her and me, 
Not ruthless sacrifice. And, more than this. 
She hath an uncle an Inquisitor, 
Who might be tempted to make curious quest 
About the final ailments of his niece. 
Therefore, clear Lilian, live ! I harm thee not. 
There's Mariana, she, mine own betrothed, 
The blooming mistress of the moated grange, 
She loves me well — but we're not married yet. 
It will be time enough to think of her 
After her lands are mine ; therefore, my own, 
My sweet affianced, sleep thou on in peace, 
Nor dream of ruffian wrong. Then there's another, 
That full-blown beauty of Abassin blood 
"Whose orient charms are madness ! Shall she die ? 
Why, no — not now at least. 'Tis but a week 
Since, at the lonely cottage in the wood, 
My eyes first rested on that Queen of Ind ! 
O, she of Sheba was an ugly ape 



22 FIRM I L IAN. 

Compared with Indiana ! — Let her pass. 

There's Haverillo, mine especial friend — 

A better creature never framed a verse 

By dint of finger-scanning ; yet he's deemed 

A proper poet by the gaping fools 

Who know not me ! I love him ; for he's kind, 

And very credulous. To send him hence 

Would be advancement to a higher sphere — ■ 

A gain to him, no loss to poetry. 

I think that he's the man : yet, hold awhile — 

No rashness in this matter ! He hath got 

Acknowledgments of mine within his desk 

For certain sums of money — paltry dross 

Which 'tis my way to spurn. I've found him still 

A most convenient creditor : he asks 

]STo instant payment for his fond advance, 

Nor yet is clamorous for the usufruct. 

How if, he being dead, some sordid slave, 

Brother or cousin, who might heir his wealth, 

Should chance to stumble on those bonds of mine, 



F I R M I L I A N . 23 

And sue me for the debt ? That were enough 
To break the wanton wings of Pegasus, 
And bind him to a stall ! Nor have I yet 
Exhausted half his means ; it may be soon 
I shall require more counters, and from him 
I may depend upon a fresh supply. 
A right good fellow T is this Haverillo — 
A mine, a storehouse, and a treasury, 
My El-Dorado and my Mexico — 
Then let him live and thrive ! 

Are there no more? 
O, yes ! There's Garcia Perez — he's my friend, 
And ever stood above me in the schools. 
And there's that young Alphonzo D'Aguilar, 
Proud of his Countship and Castilian blood, 
He hath vouchsafed me notice, and I love him. 
And there's Alonzo Olivarez, too, 
That mould of Hercules, — he's near to kin 
To Mariana, and his wealth accrues 
Solely to her. I love him like a brother. 



24 FIRMILIAN. 

Be these my choice. I sup with them tome-row. 

Come down, old Raymond Lully, from the shelf. 
Thou quaint discourser upon pharmacy. 
Did not Lucretia — not the frigid dame 
Who discomposed young Tarquin in her bower, 
But the complete and liberal Borgia- 
Consult thy pages for a sedative? 
Ay — here it is ! In twenty minutes, death ; 
The compound tasteless, and beyond the skill 
Of any earthly leech to recognize. 
Thanks, Raymond, thanks ! 

How looks the night? Thou moon, 
That in thy perfect and perennial course 
Wanderest at will across the fields of heaven — 
Thou argent beauty, meditative orb, 
That spiest out the secrets of the earth 
In the still hours when guilt and murder walk — ■ 
To what far region takest thou thy way ? 
Not Latmos now allures thee, for the time 
When boy Endyinion stretched his tender limbs 



F I K M I L 1 A N . 25 

Within the coverture of Dian's bower, 

Hath melted into fable. Wilt thou pass 

To Ephesus, thy city, glorious once, 

But now dust-humbled; and, for ancient love, 

Make bright its ruined shafts, and weed-grown 

walls, 
With molten silver ? Or invite thee more 
The still witch-haunted plains of Thessaly, 
Where, o'er the bones of the Pharsalian dead, 
Amidst the gibbering of the Lemures, 
Grim women mutter spells, and pale thy face 
With monstrous incantation ? What ! already 
Shrink'st thou behind the curtain of a cloud 
E'en at my looking ? Then I know indeed 
My destiny is sure ! For I was born 
To make thee and thine astral brethren quake, 
And I will do it ! Glide thou on thy way — 
I will to rest — best slumber while I may ! 

[Exit. 



20 F I R M I L I A N 



SCENE II. 

An Apartment. Mariana and Haverillo. 

hAverillo. 

You need not fear him, cousin ; for I'm sure 
His heart's in the right place. He's wayward, 

doubtless, 
And very often unintelligible, 
But that is held to be a virtue now. 
Critics and poets both (save I, who cling 
To older canons) have discarded sense, 
And meaning's at a discount. Our young spirits, 
Who call themselves the masters of the age. 
Are either robed in philosophic mist, 
And, with an air of grand profundity, 
Talk metaphysics — which, sweet cousin, means 
Nothing but aimless jargon — or they come 
Before us in the broad bombastic vein, 



FISMILIAN. 27 

With spasms, and throes, and transcendental flights. 
And heap hyperbole on metaphor : [harm ; 

Well ! Heaven be with them, for they do small 
And I no more would grudge them their career 
Than I would quarrel with a wanton horse 
That rolls, on Sundays, in a clover-field. 
Depend upon it, ere two years are gone, 
Firmilian will be wiser. 

MARIANA. 

Yet you leave 
The point on which my soul is racked untouched. 
Men read not women's characters aright, 
Kor women men's. But I have heard this said, 
That woman holds by duty — man by honor. 
If that be true, what think you of your friend? 

hAverillo. 
Why — honor is at best a curious thing. 
A very honorable man will drive 



28 F I K M I L I A N . 

His sword into the bosom of a friend 

For having challenged some oblique remark, 

Yet will not stand on honor when the road 

Lies open for him to his neighbor's wife. 

Your honorable man cheats not at cards, 

But he will ruin tradesmen, and will sign 

A vast abundance of superfluous bills 

Without the means to pay them. Honor ! humph ! 

No doubt Firmilian is honorable. 

MARIANA. 

Ay, cousin ; but there's something more than that. 
Honor in love — How say you ? Do you think 
That you can stand the sponsor for your friend % 

HAVERILLO. 

I never was a sponsor in my life, 

And won't be now. My pretty Mariana, 

You should have thought of all such toys as these 

Ere the betrothal. You have given your word, 



FIRMILIAN. 29 

And cannot well withdraw. And, for your comfort, 

Yon must remember what Firmilian is — 

A Poet. He is privileged to sing 

A thousand ditties to a thousand maids. 

Ten Muses waited at Apollo's beck — 

Our modern poets are more amorous, 

And far exceed the count of Solomon ; 

But 'tis mere fancy ; inspiration all ; 

Pure worthless rhyming. — Soft you : here he comes. 

Enter Firmilian. 

firmilian. 

joy ! to see the partner of my thought 
Together with the partner of my soul ! 
Dear Haverillo ! pardon if before 

1 join the pressure of my palm with yours, 
I lay this tribute on my lady's hand. 

HAYER1LLO. 

Well, we'll not fight about precedency. 



30 FIRMILIAN. 

And you have come in time. My cousin here 
Was pressing me too hard. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Upon what point ? 

HAVEKILLO. 

Why, faith, to tell the truth — for I could never 
Summon a lie to meet an exigence — 
Nay, frown not, cousin ! — She's inquisitive 
About what men call honor. I have done 
My utmost to explain it. 

FIRMILIAN. 

I am glad, 
Dear Mariana, that you laid your doubt 
Before so wise a judge. Not Badajoz, 
Nor Spain, nor Europe, doth contain a man 
So stainless in his mind as Haverillo ; 
And you shall pardon me for saying this 



F I R M I L I A N . 31 

Before your face, for I've especial reason. 
You've been to me a true and constant friend. 
When I bad need of money ('tis no shame 
In a poor student to acknowledge this) — 
You have supplied me ; and I come to-day 
To thank you and repay yon. My old uncle, 
The Dean of Salamanca, has expired 
Quite full of years and honors, and has left 
To me, his nephew, all his worldly goods, 
Which are, to say the least, considerable. 
Therefore, dear Haverillo, let us meet — 
Yet not to-day — because some time must pass 
Ere I receive the hoards — they say, enormous — 
Of that quiescent pillar of the Church — 
But at the very speediest point of time 
I can select, that I may show my friend 
What love I bear him for his trust in me. 

HAVERILLO. 

You hear him, Mariana 8 Dear Firmilian ! 



32 F I R M I L IAN, 

I'm prouder of thy love than if I were 
The king of Ormus ! So your uncle's deach 
Go you to Salamanca speedily ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

If I am summoned, and they send me funds, 
I cannot choose but go — not otherwise. 
'Faith, this bequest comes at a lucky time, 
For my last ducat slumbers in my purse 
Without a coin to keep it company. 

HAVERILLO. 

Be that no hindrance. Here are eighty ducats — 
Take them. Nay, man ; is't kindly to refuse ? 
What a friend proffers, that a friend should take 
Without compulsion. 'Tis a petty loan 
To be repaid at your convenience — 
You'll vex me otherwise. 



F I R M I L I A N . 33 

FIRMILIAN. 

I'd rather dash 
My hand, like Scaevola, into the flame, 
Than vex my Haverillo ! O dear heaven ; 
If those who rail at human nature knew 
How many kindly deeds each hour brings forth— 
How man by man is cherished and sustained — 
They'd leave their carping, I will take your offer, 
And hail it as the earliest drop of wealth, 
So soon to ripen to a glorious shower. 
What says my Mariana ? 

MARIANA. 

That she loves you 
More for your yielding to your friend's desire, 
Than if you held by pride. 

HAVERILLO. 

Well put, sweet cousin ! 
2* 



34 FIRMILIAN. 

But, dear Firmilian, what hath chanced of late, 

To make you such a hermit ? You were once 

Gay as the lark, and jocund as the bee ; 

First in good-fellowship, and ever prone 

To wing occasion with a merry jest. 

Now you are grave and moody, and there hangs 

A cloud of mystery about your brow ; 

You look like one that wrestles with a thought 

And cannot fling it down. Is't poetry 

Hath brought you to this pass ? How come you on 

With your intended tragedy on Cain ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

O, that's abandoned quite ! The subject was 
Too gloomy for my handling ; and perhaps, 
Out of absorption of my intellect, 
It threw a shade on my behavior. 
Henceforward I'll be genial — take my place 
With the large-hearted men who love their kind 



F I R M I L I A X . 35 

(Whereof there seems a vast abundance now), 
And follow your example. 

HAVERILLO. 

Well said, boy ! 
Anacreon crowned his hoary locks with flowers, 
Blithe-hearted Horace chirped amidst his cups, 
Then why not we ? Right glad am I to find 
You've done with dismals. Here's a little thing, now, 
I wrote the other day, on love and wine, 
Quite germain to the matter. Will you hear it ? 

FIRMILIAX. 

I would not listen to Apollo's lute 

With greater rapture. But my time is brief — 

I had a word to say to Mariana. 

HAVERILLO. 

I understand. You want to speak of love 



36 FIRMILIAN. 

In the first person ? 'Faith I was a fool 
Not sooner to perceive it ! Fare you well— 
Some other time, be sure, I'll claim your ear. 

[Exit 

MARIANA. 

my dear love, what trouble rends your heart ? 
A loving eye hath instinct in its glance, 

And mine discerns in yours a deeper weight 
Than yon light-hearted creature could perceive. 
What ails my own Firmilian ? 

Firmilian. 

Mariana — 

1 think you love me ? 

MARIANA. 

Cruel ! Can you ask 
That question of me now ? Three months ago, 
Beside the gentle Guadiana's stream, 



FIRM I L IAN. 37 

You asked it in a whisper, and I gave 
No cold response. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Three months, my Mariana, 
Are somewhat in a lifetime, and may give 
Large opportunity for altered thoughts. 
Three hours may change a sinner to a saint — 
Three days a friend into an enemy — 
Three weeks a virgin to a courtesan — 
Three months a conqueror to a fugitive. 
I say not this in challenge of your love, 
But as a fixed eternal law of time 
That cannot be gainsay ed. I know you loved me, 
When, by the gentle Guadiana's stream, 
We interchanged our troth. 

MARIANA. 

And what hath chanced 
Since then to make vou doubt me ? Have a care 



38 F I R M I L I A N . 

Of what you say, Firmilian ! Women's hearts 
Are tender and impressible as wax, 
But underneath there lies a solid fold 
Of pride. You'd best be cautious ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Lo you now — 
She makes me an accuser ! Mariana ! 
My own, my beautiful — I'd rather doubt 
The lustre of the star Aldebaran 
Than the firm faith of thine unbiassed soul, 
But I have enemies. It is the fate 
Of genius that it cannot spread its wings, 
And soar triumphant to the welcoming clouds, 
Without a hateful cawing from the crows. 
Mark me ! I am not quite as other men ; 
My aims are higher, more resolved than theirs, 
And therefore they detest me. There's no shaft 
Within the power of calumny to loose 
Which is not bent at me. I am not blind 



PIRMILIAN. 39 

With soaring near the sun. I know full well 
That envious men have termed me libertine — 
And, from the frank out- welling of my mind 
(Which never flowed from impulse save to thee), 
Have done me fearful wrong. And this it is 
That racks my being. There's your kinsman now, 
Alonzo Olivarez — he makes free, 
I'm told, with my fair fame. 

MARIANA. 

You need not fear him. 
Surely you know Alonzo. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Yes. I know him 
As a strong fool, who, in his roy storing cups, 
Does far more mischief than the veriest knave 
Whose power of satire makes his words suspect. 
There's no such libeller as your arrant ass ! 
Men know he can't invent; and what he savs 



40 FIRM I L IAN. 

Gains credit from his sheer stupidity. 
Hath he not talked of me ? 

MARIANA. 

Indeed he has ; 
But what he said escaped me. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Then I'm right ! 
He's Garcia's mouthpiece ; and I know the man 
That sets them on — Alphonzo D'Aguilar — 
Who swears you loved him once. 

MARIANA. 

If he does so, 
He's an unmeasured villain ! What — Alphonzo ? 
Had I ne'er seen thy face, Firmilian, 
And did my choice lie 'twixt a muleteer 
And that stiff scion of Castilian blood, 



F I R M I L I A N . 41 

I'd wed the peasant ! Do you tell me this ? 
O, now I understand their treachery ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

And therefore solely have I tried thee thus. 
Dear Mariana, weep not ! I perceive. 
What hath been done, 'Tis an accursed world, 
Wherein bright things have little leave to shine 
Without the sullying of some envious hand. 
Henceforth be thou and I sole witnesses 
Against each other. Let us shut the door 
To all the outward blasts of calumny, 
And live by mutual trusting. Dry your tears! 
Or, if you will, weep on, and I shall count 
For every pearly drop with D'Aguilar, 
Making him pay the ransom with his blood. 
O that a caitiff's slander should have power 
To rack thee thus ! 



42 FIRMILIAN 



MARIANA. 



'Tis gone — the storm has past. 
'Twas but a bitter hail-shower, and the sun 
Laughs out again within the tranquil blue. 
Henceforth, Firmilian, thou art safe with me. 
If all the world conspired to do thee wrong, 
And heap its ugly slanders on thy head — 
Yea, though an angel should denounce my love, 
I would not listen. From thy lips alone 
I'll hear confession. 

FIRMILIAN. 

And the penance, sweet — 
Make it no more than this. 

O balmy breath ! 

[The scene closes. 



F I R M I L I A N . 43 



SCENE III. 

A Tavern. Alphonzo D'Aguilar, Garcia Perez, 
Alonzo Olivarez, and Firmllian. 

PEREZ. 

You take it far too hotly, D'Aguilar — 

All men are fanciful in love, and beauty 

Is as abundant as the open air 

In every region of this bounteous world. 

You stand for Spanish beauty — what's your type? 

Dark hair, vermilion lips, an olive tint, 

A stately carriage, and a flashing eye, 

Go northward : there's your Dutchman — he prefers 

Blonde tresses, dove-like glances and a form 

Of most enticing plumpness. Then the Dane 

Is all for red and blue ; the brighter color 

Pertaining chiefly to the lady's hair, 



44 F I E MILIAN. 

The duller to her eyes. Fur my own part, 
I love variety. 

d'aguilar. 

And so do I, 
Within its proper bounds. No grander show 
Could poet fancy in his wildest dreams, 
Than a great tournament of Europe's knights, 
The free, the strong, the noble, and the brave, 
Splintering their lances in a guarded list, 
Beneath a balcony of Europe's dames. 
Oh, could I sound a trump and bring them here ? 
In one vast troop of valor and renown ! 
The gay, light-hearted chivalry of France, 
The doughty English, and the hardy Scot, 
The swart Italian, and the ponderous Swede, 
With those who dwell beside the castled Rhine. 
"Nor they alone, but with them all the flowers 
That send their odor over Christendom— 
The fair and blushing beauties of the lands 



F-IRMILIAN. 45 

From the far Baltic to our inland sea. 
By him of Compostella ! 'twere a field 
"Wherein a noble might be proud to die. 

FIRMILTAN . 

I am not noble, and I'd rather die 
At peace in my own bed. But, D'Aguilar, — 
Are you not too exclusive ? I have read — 
For I have been a student of romance, 
And pored upon the tomes of chivalry — 
How ere the days of mighty Charlemagne 
The South did glorious battle with the North, 
And Afric's atabals were heard to clang 
Among the thickets by the turbid Seine. 
Yea, I have heard of knights of old descent, 
Cross-hilted warriors, Paladins indeed, 
Who would have bartered all the boasted charms 
Of Europe's beauties, for one kindly glance 
Shot from the eyelids of a Paynim maid. 



46 firmilian. 

d'aguilar. 

Firmilian, thou blasphemest I Never knight 
To whom the stroke of chivalry was given, 
Could stoop to such an utter infamy ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Your pardon, Count ! When English Richard bore 
Upon his bosom the Crusader's sign, 
And fought in Palestine, lie laid his sword 
Upon the shoulder of a Moslem chief 
And dubbed him, knight. 

d'aguilar. 

The greater villain he ! 
I've heard of that same Richard as a most 
Malignant child of Luther. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Have you so ? 



F I It M I L I A X . 47 

Nay, then, chronology must do him wrong : 
But that's no matter. Then you would exclude 
All beauty from that tournament of yours 
Which did not appertain to Christendom ? 



Doubt you the answer of a Christian peer, 
Within whose veins the blood of old Castile, 
Undimmed by peasant or mechanic mud, 
Flows bright as ruby ? Yes, what mean you, Sir, 
By asking such a question ? 

PEREZ. 

Soft you now ! 
There's no offence. Let's hear Firmilian. 

FIRMILIAN. 

I knew a poet once ; and he was young, 
And intermingled with such fierce desires 
As made pale Eros veil his face with grief, 



48 FIRMILIAN. 

And caused his lustier brother, to rejoice. 
He was as amorous as a crocodile 
In the spring season, when the Memphian bank, 
Receiving substance from the glaring sun, 
Resolves itself from mud into a shore. 
And — as the scaly creature wallowing there, 
In its hot fits of passion, belches forth 
The steam from out its nostrils, half in love, 
And half in grim defiance of its kind ; 
Trusting that either, from the reedy fen, 
Some reptile-virgin coyly may appear, 
Or that the hoary Sultan of the Nile 
May make tremendous challenge, with his jaws, 
And, like Mark Anthony, assert his right 
To all the Cleopatras of the ooze- 
So fared it with the poet that I knew. 

He had a soul beyond the vulgar reach, 
Sun ripened swarthy. He was not the fool 
To pluck the feeble lily from its shade 



F ] KM1L1AN. 4!) 

When the black h jacinth stood in fragrance by. 
The lady of his love was dusk as Ind, 
Her lips as plenteous as the Sphinx's are, 
And her short hair crisp with Numidian curl. 
She was a negress. You have heard the strains 
That Dante, Petrarch, and such puling fools 
As loved the daughters of cold Japhet's race, 
Have lavished idly on their icicles. 
As snow melts snow, so their unhasty fall 
Fell chill and barren on a pulseless heart. 
But, would you know what noontide ardor is, 
Or in what mood the lion, in the waste, 
All fever-maddened, and intent on cubs, 
At the oasis waits the lioness — 
That shall you gather from the fiery song 
Which that young poet framed, before he dared 
Invade the vastness of his lady's lips. 

d'aguilak. 
Spawn of Mahmoud ! woukUst thou pollute mine 
ears 3 



50 FIRM'ILIAN. 

With thy lewd ditties? There ! {Strikes him,) 

Thou hast the hand 
Fur once, of a true noble, on thy cheek ; 
1 And what the hand has done, it will defend. 

PEREZ. 

This is too much ! Nay, D'Aguilar, you're wrong ! 
Alonzo Olivarez — rouse, thee, man ! 
Lay down the wine-pot for a moment's space, 
There's a brawl here ! 

OLIVAREZ. 

I wish you fellows would keep quiet, and not inter- 
rupt drinking. It is a very disagreeable thing for 
a sober man to be disturbed over his liquor. I sup- 
pose you are quite aware that I can throw the 
whole of you over the window in a minute. My 
opinion is that you are a couple of bloody fools. 
I don't know what you are quarrelling about, but 
I won't stand any nonsense. 



FIRMILIAN. 51 



FIRMILIAN. 

You struck me, sir ? 



I did. 

FIRMILIAN. 

And you're aware, 
Of course, of what the consequence must be, 
Unless you tender an apology ? 



Of course I am. 



FIRMILIAN. 



Madman ! wouldst thou provoke 
The slide o' the avalanche ? 



FIEMILIAN. 



I wait its fall 
In perfect calmness. 

FIRMILIAN. 

O thou rash young lord ! 
Beware in time ! A hurricane of wrath 
Is raging in my soul — If it burst forth, 
'Twere better for thee that within the waste 
Thou met'st a ravening tigress, or wert bound 
In a lone churchyard where hyaenas prowl ! 
I may forget myself ! 

d'aguilar. 

Small chance of that. 
"Words are your weapons, and you wield them well ; 
But gentlemen, when struck, are not in use 
To rail like muleteers. You wear a sword, sir ! 



F I R M I L I A N . 53 

PEEEZ. 

Are you mad, D'Aguilar, to court a brawl 
Within the college precincts ! Olivarez — 
Set down the flagon, and bestir thee, man ; 
This must not be ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Nay, Perez, stand thou back — 
He hatll provoked his fate, and he must die. 

{Draws.) 

OLFVARKZ. 

I'll score the first man that makes a thrust, over 
the costard with this pint-pot ! If you needs must 
fight, fight like gentlemen in the open air, and at 
a reasonable hour. What right has either of you 
to disturb the conviviality of the evening? 

FIRMILJAN. 

A blow — a blow ! I have received a blow — 



54 FIRMILIAN; 

My soul's athirst for vengeance, and I'll have it ! 
Come not between the lion and his prey. 

OLIVAEEZ. 

To the devil with your lions ! I suppose you think 
it safe enough to roar now? Once for all, if you 
can't settle this matter without fighting, fix some 
hour to-morrow morning, and take your fill of it. 
But here you shall not fight. What say vou, Al- 
phonzo ? 



He hath the blow, so let him speak the first. 

FIRMILTAN. 

Agreed ! Until to-morrow, then, I'll keep 
My rage unsated. Let the hour be'eight ; 
The place, the meadow where the stream turns round 
Beside the cork-trees ; and for witnesses, 
Perez and Olivarez. D'Aguilar — 



FIRMILIAN. 55 



If I should fail thee at the rendezvous. 
Perpetual shame and infamy be mine ! 



Agreed ! And I rejoice to hear thee speak 
So manfully. If I have done thee wrong, 
I'll give thee satisfaction with my sword : 
You show at least a nobler temper now. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Fail you not, D'Aguilar — /shall not fail. 

OLIVAREZ. 

Well — all that is comfortably adjusted, and just 
as it should be. Let's have some more wine — this 
talking makes a man thirsty. 

PEREZ. 

No more for me. 



56 F I R M I L I A N . 

FIRMILIAN. 

Your pardon — I'd provided 
(Not dreaming of this hot dispute to-night), 
Some flasks of rarest wine— 'Tis Ilderfonso, 
Of an old vintage. I'll not leave them here 
To be a perquisite unto our host ; 
And, lest our early parting hence should breed 
Suspicion of to-morrow, let us stay 
And drink another cup. Yon, D'Aguilar, 
Whose sword must presently be crossed with mine, 
Will not refuse a pledge ? 

p'aguilar. 

Not I, in faith ! 
Now you have shown your mettle, I regard you 
More than I did before. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Fill then your cups. 
Nay, to the brim — the toast requires it, sirs. 
Here's to the King ! 



FIEMILIAN. 57 



OMNES. 



The King ! 



FIRMILIAN. 

Fill up again — 
'Tis my last pledge. 

OLIYAREZ. 

Why don't you help yourself? The wine is capital. 

FIRMILIAN. 

My goblet's full. Drink to another King, 
Whose awful aspect doth o'erawe the world — 
The conqueror of conquerors — the vast 
But unseen monarch to whose sceptre bow 
The heads of kings and beggars ! 

PEREZ. 

That's the Pope ! 
3* 



58 FIEMILIAN. 

FIKMILIAN. 

No — not the Pope — but lie that hurnbleth Popes. 
Drink to King Death! — You stare, and stand 

amazed — 
O, you have much mista'en me, if you think 
That some slight spurting of Castilian blood, 
Or poet's ichor, can suffice to lay 
The memory of to-night's affront asleep ! 
Death hath been sitting with us all the night, 
Glaring through hollow eye-holes — to the doomed 
He is invisible, but I have seen him 
Point with his fleshless finger ! But no more — 
Farewell ! — I go : and if you chance to hear 
A passing-bell — be it a comfort to you ! 
At eight to-morrow I shall keep my time. 
See you are there ! [Exit. 

PEREZ. 

I think the fellow's mad ! 
I held him even as a mere poltroon ; 



FIRMILIAN. 59 

But that same blow of your's, Alphonzo — 'faith, 
'Twas wrong in you to give it— hath prevailed, 
Like steel against a flint. He shows some fire-, 
And seems in deadly earnest — what's the matter? 

d'aguilar. 
Don't ask — I'm sick and faint. 

OLIVAREZ. 

I'm not drunk, I am sure — but I have the strangest 
throbbing in my temples. Do you think you could 
get a waiter or two to carry me home ? I feel as 
cold as a cucumber, 

PEREZ. 

My brain swims too. Hark ! what is that without? 

[The Passing-hell tolls, and Monks are heard 
channting the Penitential Psalms. Slow and 
ivailing music as the scene closes.] 



™ F I R M I L I A X . 



SCENE IV. 
Cloisters. Enter Firmiliax. 

This was a splendid morning ! The clew lay 

In amplest drops upon the loaded grass, 

And filled the buttercups hard by the place 

Where I expected fiery D'Aguilar. 

He did not come. Well — I was there at least, 

And waited for an hour beyond the time, 

During which while I studied botany, 

And yet my proud opponent showed no face ! 

Pshaw ! to myself I'll be no hypocrite — 

If Raymond Lully lied not, they are dead, 

And I have done it' ! (A pause.) 

How is this ? My mind 
Is light and jocund. Yesternight I deemed, 
When the dull passing-bell announced the fate 
Of those insensate and presumptuous fools. 



FIRMILIAR. 61 

That, as a vulture lights on carrion flesh 
With a shrill scream and flapping of its wings, 
Keen-beaked Remorse would settle on my soul, 
And fix her talons there. She did not come ; 
.Nay, stranger still — methought the passing-bell 
Was but the prelude to a rapturous strain 
Of highest music, that entranced me quite. 
For sleep descended on me, as it falls 
Upon an infant in its mother's arms, 
And all night long I dreamed of Indiana. 
What ! is Remorse a fable after all — 
A mere invention, as the Harpies were, 
Or crazed Orestes' furies ? Or have I 
Mista'en the ready way to lure her down ? 
There are no beads of sweat upon my brow — 
My clustering hair maintains its wonted curl, 
Nor rises horrent, as a murderer's should. 
I do not shudder, start, nor scream aloud — 
Tremble at every sound — grow ghastly pale 



62 F I E M I L I A X . 

When a leaf falls, or when a lizard stirs. 

I do not wring my fingers from their joints, 

Or madly thrust them quite into my ears 

To bar the echo of a dying groan. 

And, after all, what is there to regret ? 

Three fools have died carousing as they lived, 

And nature makes no special moan for them. 

If I have gained no knowledge by this deed, 

I have lost none. The subtle alchemist, 

Whose aim is the elixir, or that stone 

The touch whereof makes baser metals gold, 

Must needs endure much failure, ere he finds 

The grand Arcanum. So is it with me. 

I have but shot an idle bolt away, 

And need not seek it further. Who comes here 

Enter a Priest and a Graduate. 

GRADUATE. 

Believe me, father, they are all aecurs'd ! 
These marble garments of the ancient Gods, 



PIEMILIA N . 63 

"Which the blaspheming hand of Babylon 
Hath gathered out of ruins, and hatli raised 
In this her dark extremity of sin ; 
Not in the hour when she was sending forth 
Her champions to the highway and the field, 
To pine in deserts and to writhe in flame — 
But in the scarlet frontage of her guilt, 
"When, not with purple only, but with blood, 
"Were the priests vested, and their festive cups 
Foamed with the hemlock rather than the wine ! 
Call them not Churches, father — call them prisons ; 
And yet not such as bind the body in, 
But gravestones of the soul ! 1'or, look you, sir, 
Beneath that weight of square-cut weary stone 
A thousand workmen's souls are pent alive ! 
And therefore I declare them all accurs'd. 

priest. * 

Peace, son ! thou ravest. 



64 F I R M I L I A N . 

GRADUATE. 

Do I rave indeed ? 
So raved the Prophets when they told the truth 
To Israel's stubborn councillors and kings — 
So raved Cassandra, when in Hector's ear 
She shrieked the presage of his coming fall. 
I am a prophet also — and I say 
That o'er those stones wherein you place your pride 
Annihilation waves her dusky wing ; 
Yea, do not marvel if the earth itself, 
Like a huge giant, weary of the load, 
Should heave them from its shoulders. I have said it. 
It is my purpose, and they all shall down ! 

[Exit. 

PRIEST. 

Alas, to see a being so distraught ! 

And yet there may be danger in his words, 

For heresy is rife. Ha ! who is this ? 



F I R M I L T A N . 65 

If I mistake not, 'tis Firmilian, 
Mine ancient pupil ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

And he craves your blessing ! 

PRIEST. 

Thou hast it, son. Now tell me — didst thou hear 
The words yon Graduate uttered ere -he left ? 
Methought his speech was levelled at the Church. 

FIRMILIAN. 

I heard him say all Churches should be levelled ; 
That they were built on souls ; that earth would rise 
To shake them from its shoulders ; and he railed 
At Mother Rome, and called her Babylon. 
My ears yet tingle with the impious sounds. 

PRIEST. 

I la — did he so ? By holy Nicholas, 



C6 F I E M ILIAN. 

I'll have Mm straight reported ! Dost thou think, 
Good son Firmilian, he deviseth aught 
Against the Church, or us her ministers ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

I do suspect him very grievously. 

PRIEST. 

And so do I. We hold a festival 
On Tuesday next, when the Inquisitor 
Is certain to be present — it were best 
Ere then to give him notice. Who shall say 
That, like another Samson, this vile wretch 
May not drag down the pillars of the Church 
And whelm us all in ruin ? I am bound 
To see to that. Son — Benedicite ! 

[Exit, 

FIRMILIAN. 

On Tuesday next, when the Inquisitor 



F I R H I L I A N . 67 

Is certain to be present ? — Lilian's uncle ? 

That were an opportunity too rare 

To be allowed to pass ! For this same priest — ■ 

He is my old preceptor, and instilled, 

By dint of frequent and remorseless stripes 

Applied at random to my childish rear, 

Some learning into me. I owe him much, 

And fain I would repay it. Ha — ha — ha ! 

What a dull creature was that Graduate 

To blurt his folly out ! If a church falls 

Within the next ten years in Badajoz, 

Nay, if a single stone should tumble down, 

Or a stray pebble mutilate the nose 

Of some old saint within a crumbling niche, 

His life will pay the forfeit. As he spoke, 

Methought I saw the solid vaults give way, 

And the entire cathedral rise in air, 

As if it leaped from Pandemonium's jaws. 

But that's a serious matter. I have time 

To meditate the deed. These cloister walks 



DO F1EMILIA N. 

Are dull and cheerless, and my spirit pants 
For kind emotion. Let me pass from hence 
And wile away an hour with Lilian. 

[Brit. 






FIRMILIAN. 69 



SCENE V. 

A Wine Shop. Nicodemus and Two Familiars. 

nicodemus. 
Not a drop more, gentlemen, if you love me ! 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

Nonsense, man ! We have not had as much as 
would satisfy the thirst of a chicken. Another 
stoup here ! And now tell us a little more about 
your master. 

NICODEMUS. 

Aha, sirs ! He's an odd one, is Senor Firmiliau. 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

A devil among the wenches, I suppose ? 



70 FIKMILIAN. 



NICODEMUS. 



Mum for that, sir ! I hope I am not the man to 
betray confidence. What I see, I behold ; and 
what I behold I can keep to myself ; and there's 
enough on't. What have you black-coated gentry 
to do with the daughters of Eve ? 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

Nay, no offence meant, Master Nicodemus — you 
are sharper than Pedrillo's razor ! What — young 
blood will have its way ! But you are happy in 
serving, as I hear, the most promising student in 
Badajoz. 

NICODEMUS. 

Serving, sir ? Marry come up ! I'd have you 
know that I am his secretary. 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

Aha ! Your health, Master Secretary ! I fear me 
you have heavy labor. 



F I R M I L I A N . 71 

NICODEMUS. 

Don't speak of it ! If you knew what I have to 
do — the books I have to translate from the Coptic, 
Latin, "Welsh, and other ancient languages — you'd 
pity me. I sometimes wish I had never been 
familiar with foreign tongues. Learning, my mas- 
ters, is no inheritance. And then, when you come 
to deal with the Black Art — 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

Enlighten us, Master Secretary — what is that ? 



NICODEMUS. 



The Black Art \ Here is your very good health ! — ■ 
I wish you could see my master's room, after he has 
been trying to call up the devil ! Lord, sir! there's 
no end of skulls, and chalk marks on the floor, and 
stench of sulphur, and what not — but I don't believe 
that, with all his pains, he ever brought the devil up. 



72 FIRMILIAN. 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

Take another cup. — But he tries it sometimes % 

NICODEMUS. 

Punctually upon Wednesdays — about midnight, 
when the whole household have gone to sleep. 
But he's not up to the trick : he never could raise 
anything larger than a hedge-hog. 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

But he has done that, has he ? 

NICODEMUi. 

Of course ! Any one can raise a hedge-hog. But 
I'm not going to sit here all night seeing you 
drinking. I must go home to translate Plotinus, 
who was a respectable father of the Latin Church. 
Take my advice and go home too — you are both 
rather drunk. Where's my beaver ? Don't attempt 



F IKMILIAN. i )j 

to offer me two, in case 1 put the phantom one on 
my head. I say — if there is a drop remaining in 
the bottle, you might offer it by way of courtesy. 
Thanks, and take care of yourselves. [Exit. 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

What say you to this story ? A clearer proof 
Of arrant sorcery was never given 
Unto the Holy office. 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

It is complete. 
He raises hedge-hogs ! That's enough for me. 

[Exeunt. 



74 FIRMILIAN. 



SCENE VI. 

Exterior of the Cathedral of St. Nicholas. 

Choir heard chaunting within. 

Enter Firmilian. 

How darkly hangs yon cloud above the spire ! 
There's thunder in the air — 

What if the flash 
Should rend the solid walls, and reach the vault, 
Where my terrestial thunder lies prepared, 
And so, without the action of my hand, 
Whirl up those thousand bigots in its blaze, 
And leave me guiltless, save in the intent. 

That were a vile defraudment of my aim. 
A petty larceny o' the element, 
An interjection of exceeding wrong ! 



F I KM I L I A N . 75 

Let the hoarse thunder rend the vault of heaven, 
Yea, shake the stars by myriads from their boughs, 
As Autumn tempests shake the fruitage down ;— 
Let the red lightning shoot athwart the sky, 
Entangling comets by their spooming hair, 
Piercing the zodiac belt, and carrying dread 
To old Orion, and his whimpering hound ; — 
But let the glory of this deed be mine ! 

organ and CHOIR. 

Sublimatus ad honorem 

Nicholai presulis : 
Pietatis ante rorem 

Cunctis pluit populis : 
Ut vix parem aut majorem 

Habeat in seculis. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Yet I could weep to hear the wretches sing ! 
There rolls the organ anthem down the aisle, 



76 F I R M I L I A N . 

And thousand voices join in its acclaim. 

All they are happy — they are on their knees ; 

Round and above them stare the images 

Of antique saints and martyrs. Censors steam 

With their Arabian charge of frankincense, 

And every heart, with inward fingers, counts 

A blissful rosary of pious prayer ! 

Why should they perish, then ? Is't yet too late'^ 

O shame, Firmilian, on thy coward soul ! 
What ! thou, the poet ! — thou, whose mission 'tis 
To send vibration down the chord of time, 
Until its junction with eternity — 
Thou, who hast dared and pondered and endured, 
Gathering by piecemeal all the noble thoughts 
And tierce sensations of the mind — as one 
Who in a garden culls the wholesome rose, 
And binds it with the deadly nightshade up ; 
Flowers not akin, and yet, by contrast kind — 
Thou, for a touch of what these mundane fools 
Whine of as pity, to forego thine aim, 



FIRMILIAN. 77 

And never feel the gnawing of remorse, 

Like the Promethean vulture on the spleen, 

That shall instruct thee to give future voice 

To the unuttered agonies of Cain ! 

Thou, to compare, with that high consequence 

The breath of some poor thousand knights and 

knaves, 
Who soaring, in the welkin, shall expire ! 
Shame, shame, Firmilian ! on thy weakness, shame ! 

organ and CHOIR. 

Auro dato violari 

Virgines prohibuit : 
Far in fame, vas in mari 

Servat et distribuit : 
Qui timebant naufragari 

Nautis opem tribuit. 

FIRMILIAN. 

A right good saint he seems, this Nicholas ! 



78 FIR MIL IAN. 

And over-worked too, if the praise be just, 
Which these, his votaries, quaver as his claim. 
Yet it is odd he should o'erlook the fact 
That underneath this church of his are stored 
Some twenty barrels of the dusty grain, 
The secret of whose framing, in an hour 
Of diabolic jollity and mirth, 
Old Roger Bacon wormed from Beelzebub ! 
He might keep better wardship for his friends ; 
But that to me is nothing. Kow's the time ! 
Ha! as I take the matchbox in my hand, 
A spasm pervades me, and a natural thrill 
As though my better genius were at hand, 
And strove to pluck me backwards by the hair. 
I must be resolute. Lose this one chance, 
Which bears me to th' Acropolis of guilt, 
And this, our age, forgoes its noblest song. 
I must be speedy — 



FIRMILIAN. 79 

organ and CHOIR. 

A defunctis suscitatur 
Furtum qui commiserat : 

Et Judseus baptizatur 
Furtum qui recuperat : 

Illi vita restauratur, 
Hie ad fidem properat. 

Firmilian. 

No more was needed to confirm my mind ! 
That stanza blows all thoughts of pity off, 
As empty straws are scattered by the wind ! 
For I have been the victim of the Jews, 
Who, by vile barter, have absorbed my means. 
Did I not pawn — for that same flagrant stuff, 
Which only waits a spark to be dissolved, 
And, having done its mission, must disperse 
As a thin smoke into the ambient air — 
My diamond cross, my goblet, and my books ? 



80 F I R MILIAN. 

What ! would they venture to baptize the Jew? 
The cause assumes a holier aspect, then ; 
And, as a faithful son of Rome, I dare 
To merge my darling passion in the wrong 
Tli at is projected against Christendom! 
Pity, avaunt ! I may not longer stay. 

[Exit into the vaults. A short pause, 
after which he reappears. 
'Tis done ! I vanish like the lightning bolt. 

organ and CHOIR. 

Nicholai sacerdotum 

Decus, honor, gloria : 
Plebem omnem, clerum totum — 

[The Cathedral is blown up.'} 



FIRM I L TAN. 81 



SCENE VII. 
Saloon. Pall and Coffin. 

Enter Countess, Confessor, Haverillo, and 
Attendants. 

confessor 

Weep not, dear lady — he is now at rest ! 

Nor thundering cannon, nor loud-booming drum, 

Nor braying trumpet, nor the clarion's call, 

Nor rapid crash of charging chivalry, 

Can stir him from his sleep. For him no more 

Hath the lewd tinkling of the amorous lute 

Behind a twilight lattice, or the wave 

Of a light kerchief in a stealthy hand, 

Or lifting of dark eyelids, any charm ! 

No more shall he, in joyous revelry, 

Ply the loose wine cup, or exchange the jest — 

And therefore, I beseech you, drv vour tears. 
4* 



82 FIKMILIAN. 

iiaverillo. (Aside.) 

Why, what a ghostly comforter is this ! 
He tells her nothing of the yet to be, 
But only harps upon the aching past. 

CONFESSOR. 

Bear up that coffin ! Grief hath had its scope, 

And now 'tis time to pause. Bethink thee, lady, 

How it may fare with thine Alphonzo's soul. 

There's no rich clothing in the world beyond, 

No je well'd cups, no sparkling costly gems, 

No rare display of silver and of gold 

Such as your sideboards show on gala-days — 

But the poor spirit, shivering and alone, 

On the cold sea-beach of eternity, 

Must shriek for help to those he left behind. 

g a y — shall Alphonzo plead to thee in vain % 



FIRMILIAN. 83 

COUNTESS. 

man — man — man ! Thy prating drives me mad — 
Thy hideous voice is loathsome to mine ear, 
Albeit I know not what thou croakest there ! 

Set down the coffin — set it down, I say ! 

1 have not yet wept half the flood of tears 
That I must pour on my Alphonzo's head. 
There's a hot deluge seething in my brain, 
And I must give it leave to flow, or die ! 

HAVERILLO. 

Poor lady, she is greatly moved ! 'Twere best 
To give her passion way. Bethink you, Sir ; 
A mother rarely will with patience hear 
A true reproach against a living son, 
Far less a taunt directed at the dead. 

CONFESSOR. 

Who's he that dares usurp my privilege, 



84 F I E M I L I A K . 

Or question my discretion ? Is't for thee, 
Thou silken moth, to nutter round the torch 
Of conscience, flaming in a Churchman's hands 
And try to smother it ? What art thou, sirrah ? 
I warrant me some kinsman, with an eye 
To those vast hoards of molten vanity, 
Which can alone relieve Alphonzo's soul 
Under the guidance of our holy Church. 
Out on thee, heretic ! 

HAVERILLO. 

Presumptuous priest ! 
Wer't thou unfrocked, I'd tell thee that thou liest. 

CONFESSOR. 

Hence, vile disturber of the hapless dead ! 
Thou enemy of souls — thou sordid knave, 
That, for a paltry pittance to thyself, 
Wouldst bar the gates of Paradise to him 
Who lies beneath yon pall ! What, caitiff wretch ! 




FIRMILIAN. 85 

Wilt thou again presume to answer me ? 
Let but a word escape thy tainted lips, 
And the most fell anathema of Rome, 
From which there neither is appeal nor cure, 
Shall fulmine on thy head ! 

As for thee, lady — 
If thou regardest him whom thou hast lost 
With holier feeling than the tigress shows 
When, in her savage and blood-boltered den, 
She moans above the carcass of her cubs — 
Consume no more the precious hours in grief ; 
Each hour is precious to a soul in pain ! 
Give me the keys of all thy coffered wealth, 
That, with a liberal hand, I may dispense 
Thy hoarded angels to the suffering poor. 
Thy jewels also — what hast thou to do 
With earthly jewels more ? — give them to me ; 
And for each brilliant thou shalt hear a mass 
Sung for Alphonzo. Fie on filthy pride ! 
Is't meet a widow's house should hold such store 



86 FIRMILIAN. 

Of flagons, cups, and costly chalices, 
Of massive salvers and ancestral bowls ? 
These are the subtile spider-threads of sin 
That bind the soul to earth. Away with them ! 
Thou hast no children now. 

COUNTESS. 

Thou crawling wretch — 
Thou holy lie — thou gilded sepulchre — 
Thou most consummate hypocrite and knave ! 
How darest thou take measure of my grief 
With thine unnatural hands ? What ! thou a priest, 
And, in the hour of desolation, seek'st 
For ransom to be paid in gems and gold 
For a pure spirit, which, beside thine own, 
Would show as glorious as an angel's form 
Contrasted with an Ethiopian slave ! 
What are thy prayers, that I should purchase them ? 
Hast thou not fed, for twenty years and more, 
Upon the liberal bounty of our house ? 



FIKMILIAN. 87 

Have I not seen thee natter and deceive ; 

Fawn like a spaniel ; and, with readiest lie, 

Make coverture of thine obscene attempts 

Upon my handmaids ? Villain ! there they stand, 

The blushing proofs of thine impurity. 

Hast thou not stroked my lost Alphonzo's head 

A thousand times, protesting that no youth 

Gave ever promise of a fairer course ? 

And wouldst thou now retract that word of thine, 

And, in the presence of my blighted flower, 

Deny the glorious perfume that it bore ? 

get thee gone ! thou mak'st me wrong the dead, 
By wasting moments, consecrate to tears, 

In idle railing at a wretch like thee ! 

CONFESSOR. 

This is mere madness ! Think not to escape, 

By angry words and frantic declamation, 

The righteous claims of the defrauded Church. 

1 stir not hence until her dues are paid. 



88 FIRMILTAN. 

If thou withkold'st thy keys, I warn thee, lady, 
That holy Peter will not turn his key 
For any of thy race ! 

COUNTESS. 

Thou cormorant 
That screamest still for garbage ! take thy fill, 
And rid me of thy presence. Fabian — 
Show him the secret chamber of the Cid, 
Wherein the ransom of the Moors is piled : 
There is the key — and let him never more 
Pollute my threshold ! O my lost Alphonzo ! 

(Swoons.) 

CONFESSOR. 

Ho, ho ! I have it now ! The key, the key ! 
Come quickly, Master Steward ! 

[Exit. Scene closes. 



FIRMILIAN. 89 

SCENE VIII. 

A Gallery. At the end an armed figure hearing a 
mace. 

Enter Confessor and Fabian. 

CONFESSOR. 

I warrant me thou thinkest, Master Steward, 
That I was over urgent with thy dame. 
There are some natures, sir, so obstinate 
That mildness will not stir them, and for these 
The Church enjoins a wholesome stimulant. 
Such is your lady. 

FABIAN. 

You are learned, sir, 
And doubtless know your duty. Here's the chamber. 

CONFESSOR. 

What mean you, fellow? There is nothing here 



90 F I It M I L I A N . 

Except an effigy in rusted mail. 

Beware of trifling with the Holy Church ! 

FABIAN. 

That is the guardian of the treasure-room. 

I see you marvel — Listen. Long ago, 

Pedro, the founder of this ancient house, 

"Was the dear friend and comrade of the Cid. 

Often together in the battle-field 

Did they two charge the squadrons of the Moor, 

And mow the stalwart unbelievers down. 

Seldom they spared a life — yet once, by chance, 

The caliph of Baldracca crossed their path, 

Him they took captive, with three princes more, 

And made them stand to ransom. All the East, 

As I have heard — Chaldea, Araby, 

Fez, Tunis, India, and the far Cathay — 

Was racked for tribute. From the Persian gulf 

There came huge bags of large and lustrous pearl, 

Which in the miry bottom of the sea 



FIRMILIAN. 91 

The breathless diver found. Then there were opals 
Bright as young moons, and diamonds like stars, 
Far-blazing rubies, gorgeous carbuncles, 
Jacinths and sapphires. And with these there came 
Ten camel-loads of curious workmanship, 
All wrought in solid gold — a greater ransom 
Than ever yet was tendered for a king ! 

CONFESSOR. 

Thy words have oj)ed a fountain in my mouth, 
And stirred its waters ! Excellent Fabian — 
So half this wealth accrued to D'Aguilar ? 

FABIAN. 

Of that, anon. When all the heap was piled 
Before them, then the Campeador said : — 
" May not my sin lie heavy on my soul 
Upon my dying day ! For I have broke 
A vow I made in youth before the shrine 
Of San Iago, never in the field 



92 F T R M I L I A N . 

To spare a heathen. What is done, is done — 
May be atoned for, but not blotted out. 
I will not touch the ransom. Be it given 
Entire to thee, my brother D'Aguilar !" 

CONFESSOR. 

No wonder Spain still glories in the Cid ! 

What ! are the treasures here ? Speak quickly, man ! 

FABIAN. 

Your patience for a moment ! When the knight 

Found no persuasion could affect the Cid, 

Or sway him from his purpose, then he yielded. 

One half the ransom bought the goodly lands 

Which still pertain unto the D'Aguilars. 

The other half lies in a secret room, 

The door of which I'll show you — you've the key. 

But first I'll tell you why yon effigy 

Stands there to guard it. 



FIRMILIAN. 93 

CONFESSOR. 

What is that to me ? 
What do I care about your effigies, 
Or mumbled stories of the knights of old ? 
The door, I say ! 

FABIAN. 

Yet listen — 'Tis my duty 
To make this clear. When Ruy Diaz died, 
The knight of D'Aguilar obtained his arms ; 
And in remembrance of the bounteous gift 
He placed them there before the treasure-room. 
'Tis said the mighty spirit of Bivar 
Still dwells within that corslet ; and the mace, 
Which once was called the hammer of the Moor, 
Is swayed on high, and will descend on those 
Who come to wrong the race of D'Aguilar. 
I've heard my father tell, that, ere my birth, 
Two reckless villains of Gitano blood, 
Lured by the rumor of the treasured wealth, 



94: FIRMILIAN. 

Tried, over niglit, to force that secret door ; 
And, in the morning, when the servants came, 
They found a brace of battered carcases, 
The skulls beat into pulp, upon the floor ; 
And yonder mace — how terrible it is ! 
Was dropping with their blood ! 

CONFESSOR. 

And dost thou think, 
With thy false legends to deter me now, 
Thou paralytic slave ? Reserve thy tales 
For gaping crones, and idle serving-men ! 
Can I not make an image stare and wink, 
Exhibit gesture with its painted hands, 
Yea, counterfeit the action of a saint — 
And dost thou hope to scare me with a lie ? 
Where is the door, I say ? 

FABIAN. 

Bear witness, Saints, 



FIKMILIAN. 95 

That I am sackless of the consequence ! 
You are forewarned — 

CONFESSOR. 

The door — the door, I say ! 

m 
FABIAN. 

Insert the key beneath that pannel there ! 

CONFESSOR. 

So — it is mine, all mine ! Why, now am I 

A king of Ind, an emperor of the earth ! 

No haste, no haste ! — I would not lose the thrill 

Of expectation that entrances me 

For half the glorious heap that's stored within ! 

Why, for a handful of those orient pearls 

I'll buy a bishopric. A dozen rubies 

May make jne Metropolitan ; and then, 

As gems are scarce and highly prized at Eome, 

A costly diamond for the noble front 

Of the Tiara, may advance my claim 



96 FIKMILIAN. 

Unto the title of a Cardinal — 

Let me take breath — Lord Cardinal — a Prince 

And Magnate of the Church ! What follows next? 

Brain, do not lose thyself in ecstasy, 

Nor swim to madness at the thought of that 

Which lies within my reach — Saint Peter's chair ! 

Why, half the wealth within this hidden vault 

Would bribe the Holy College, and would make 

Me — me, the lord of monarchs, and the chief 

Of all the rulers over Christendom ! 

Ha, ha ! to see the mighty world lie down 

In homage at my feet, and hear its hail 

To me as lord and master ! 

Is't a dream % 
Oh, no, no, no ! for here, within my hand, 
I hold the precious key that shall at once 
Admit me to the temple of my hope — 
Open, old wards, to him who shall be Pope ! 
[He attempts to open the Door, and is struck 
down by the Mace of the Effigy.'] 



F I B M I L I A N . 07 



FABIAN. 



Eight little moaning need I make for one 
Who died by his own sin ! Poor prostrate fool, 
Whom warning would not reach ! Six feet of earth 
Is all that even Popes can claim as theirs. 
Thy span must yet be less : no funeral bell 
May toll for thee — I'll drop thee in a well. 

[Exit with the body. 



98 F I E M I L I A N . 



SCENE IX. 
Summit of the Pillar of St. Simeon Stylites. 

FIRMILIAN. 

'Twas a grand spectacle ! The solid earth 
Seemed from its quaking entrails to eruct 
The gathered lava of a thousand years, 
Like an imposthume bursting up from hell ! 
In a red robe of flame, the riven towers, 
Pillars and altar, organ-loft and screen, 
"With a singed swarm of mortals intermixed, 
Were whirled in anguish to the shuddering stars, 
And all creation trembled at the din. 
It was my doing — mine alone ! and I 
Stand greater by this deed than the vain fool 
That thrust his torch beneath Diana's shrine. 
For what was it inspired Erostratus 



FIRMILIAN. 99 

But a weak vanity to have his name 

Blaze out for arson in the catalogue ? 

I have been wiser. No man knows the name 

Of me, the pyrotechnist who have given 

A new apotheosis to the saint 

With lightning blast, and stunning thunder knell ! 

And yet — and yet — what boots the sacrifice ? 
I thought to take remorse unto my heart, 
As the young Spartan hid the savage fox 
Beneath the foldings of his boyish gown, 
And let it rive his flesh. Mine is not riven — 
My heart is yet unscarred. I've been too coarse 
And general in this business. Had there been 
Amongst that multitude a single man 
Who loved me, cherished me — to whom I owed 
Sweet reciprocity for holy alms, 
And gifts of gentle import — had there been 
Friend — father — brother, mingled in that crowd, 
And I had slain him — then indeed my soul 
Might have acquired fruition of its wish, 



100 FIRMILIAN. 

And shrieked delirious at the taste of sin ! 
But these — what were the victims unto me ? 
Nothing ! Mere human atoms, breathing clods, 
Uninspired dullards, unpoetic slaves, 
The rag, and tag, and bobtail of mankind ; 
Whom, having scorched to cinders, I no more 
Feel ruth for what I did, than if my hand 
Had thrust a stick of sulphur in the nest 
Of some poor hive of droning humble-bees, 
And smoked them into silence ! 

I must have 
A more potential draught of guilt than this, 
With more of wormwood in it ! 

Here I sit, 
Perched like a raven on old Simeon's shaft, 
With barely needful footing for my limbs — 
And one is climbing up the inward coil, 
Who was my friend and brother. We have gazed 
Together on the midnight map of heaven, 
And marked the gems in Cassiopea's hair — 



FIRMILIAN. 101 

Together have we heard the nightingale 

Waste the exuberant music of her throat, 

And lull the flustering breezes into calm — 

Together have we enmlously sung 

Of Hyacinthus, Daphne, and the rest 

Whose mortal weeds Apollo changed to flowers. 

Also from him I have derived much aid 

In golden ducats, which I fain would pay 

Back with extremest usury, were but 

Mine own convenience equal to my wish. 

Moreover, of his poems he hath sold 

Two full editions of a thousand each, 

While mine remain neglected on the shelves ! 

Courage, Firmilian ! for the hour has come 

When thou canst know atrocity indeed, 

By smiting him that was thy dearest friend. 

And think not that he dies a vulgar death — 

? Tis poetry demands the sacrifice ! 

Yet not to him be that revealment made. 

lie must not know with what a loving hand — 



102 FIRM I LI AN. 

With what fraternal charitv of heart 

«/ 

I do devote him to the infernal gods ! 

I dare not spare him one particular pang, 

Nor make the struggle briefer ! Hush — he comes. 

Haverillo, emerging from the staircase. 

How now, Firmilian ! — I am scant of breath ; 
These steps have pumped the ether from my lungs, 
And made the bead-drops cluster on my brow. 
A strange, unusual rendezvous is this — 
An old saint's pillar, which no human foot 
Hath scaled this hundred years ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Ay — it is strange ! 

HAVERILLO. 

'Faith, sir, the bats considered it as such : 



They seem to flourish in the column here 



FIKMILIAN. 103 

And are not over courteous. Ha ! I'm weary : 
I shall sleep sound to-night. 

FmMILlAN. 

You shall sleep sound ! 

HAVERILLO. 

Either there is an echo in the place. 
Or your voice is sepulchral. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Seems it so ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Come, come, Firmilian — Be once more a man ! 

Leave off these childish tricks, and vapors bred 

Out of a too much pampered fantasy. 

What are we, after all, but mortal men, 

Who eat, drink, sleep, need raiment and the like, 



104 



FIRMILIAN. 



As well as any jolterhead alive ? 

Trust me, my friend, we cannot feed on dreams, 

Or stay the hungry cravings of the maw 

By mere poetic banquets. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Say you so ? 
Yet have I heard that by some alchemy 
(To me unknown as yet) you have transmuted 
Your verses to fine gold. 

HAVERILLO. 

/ 

And all that gold 
Was lent to you, Firmilian. 



FIRMILIAN. 



You expect, 
Doubtless, I will repay you ? 



FIRMILIAN. 105 

HAVERILLO. 

So I do. 
You told me yesterday to meet you here, 
And you would pay me back with interest. 
Here is the note. 

FIRMILIAN. 

A moment. — Do you see 
Yon melon-vender's stall down i' the square ? 
Methinks the fruit that, close beside the eye, 
Would show as largely as a giant's head, 
Is dwindled to a heap of gooseberries ! 
If Justice held no bigger scales than those 
Yon pigmy seems to balance in his hands, 
Her utmost fiat scarce would weigh a drachm ! 
How say you ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Nothing — 'tis a fearful height ! 
5* 



10G FIRMILUN. 

My brain turns dizzy as I gaze below, 
And there's a strange sensation in my soles. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Ay — feel you that ? Ixion felt the same 
Ere he was wmirled from heaven ! 

HAVERILLO. 

Firmilian ! 
You carry this too far. Farewell. We'll meet 
When you're in better humor. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Tarry, sir ! 
I have you here, and thus we shall not part. 
I know your meaning well. For that same dross, 
That paltry ore of Mammon's mean device 
Which I, to honor you, stooped to receive, 
You'd set the Alguazils on my heels ! 
What ! have I read your thought? Nay, never 
shrink. 



FIRM I L IAN. 107 

Nor edge towards the doorway ! You're a scholar ! 
How was't with Phaeton ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Alas ! he's mad. 
Hear me, Firmilian ! Here is the receipt — 
Take it — I grudge it not ! If ten times more, 
It were at your sweet service. 

FIRMILIAN. 

"Would you do 
This kindness unto me ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Most willingly. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Liar and slave ! There's falsehood in thine eye ! 
I read as clearly there, as in a book, 
That, if I did allow you to escape, 



108 FIRMILIAN. 

In fifteen minutes you would seek the judge. 
Therefore, prepare thee, for thou needs must die ! 

IIAVERILLO. 

Madman — stand off! 

FIRMILIAN. 

There's but four feet of space 
To spare between us. I'm not hasty, 1 ! 
Swans sing before their death, and it may be 
That dying poets feel that impulse too : 
Then, pry thee, be canorous. You may sing 
One of those ditties which have won you gold, 
And my meek audience of the vapid strain 
Shall count with Phoebus as a full discharge 
For all your ducats. Will you not begin ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Leave off this horrid jest, Firmilian ! 



FIRMILIAN. 109 



FIRMILIAN. 



Jest ! 'Tis no jest ! This pillar's very high — 
Shout, and no one can hear you from the square — 
Wilt sing, I say ? 

HAVERILLO. 

Listen, Firmilian ! 
I have a third edition in the press, 
Whereof the proceeds shall be wholly thine — 
Spare me ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

A third edition ! Atropos — 
Forgive me that I tarried ! 

HAVERILLO. 

Mercy ! — Ah ! — 
[Firmilian hurls him from the column. 



110 FIEMILIAN 



SCENE X. 
Square below the Pillar. 

Enter Apollodorus, a Critic. 

Why do men call me a presumptuous cur, 

A vaporing blockhead, and a turgid fool, 

A common nuisance, and a charlatan ? 

I've dashed into the sea of metaphor 

With as strong paddles as the sturdiest ship 

That churns Medusae into liquid light, 

And hashed at every object in my way. 

My ends are public. I have talked of men 

As my familiars, whom I never saw. 

Nay — more to raise my credit — I have penned 

Epistles to the great ones of the land, 

When some attack might make them slightly sore, 

Assuring them, in faith, it was not I. 



FIRMILIAN. Ill 

What was their answer ? Marry, shortly this : 

" Who, in the name of Zernebock, are you ?" 

I have reviewed myself incessantly — 

Yea, made a contract with a kindred soul 

For mutual interchange of puffery. 

Gods — how we blew each other ! But, 'tis past — 

Those halcyon days are gone ; and, I suspect, 

That, in some fit of loathing or disgust, 

As Samuel turned from Eh's coarser son, 

Mine ancient playmate hath deserted me. 

And yet I am Apollodorus still ! 

I search for genius, having it myself, 

With keen and earnest longings. I survive 

To disentangle, from the imping wings 

Of our young poets, their crustaceous slough. 

I watch them, as the watcher on the brook 

Sees the young salmon wrestling from its egg y 

And revels in its future bright career. 

Ha ! what seraphic melody is this ? 



112 FIRMILIAN. 

Enter Sancho, a Costermonger, singing. 

Down in the garden behind the wall, 
Merrily grows the bright-green leek ; 

The old sow grunts as the acorns fall, 

The winds blow heavy, the little pigs squeak. 

One for the litter, and three for the teat — 

Hark to their music, Juanna my sweet ! 

APOLLODORTTS. 

Now, heaven be thanked ! here is a genuine bard, 

A creature of high impulse, one unsoiled 

By coarse conventionalities of rule. 

He labors not to sing, for his bright thoughts 

Resolve themselves at once into a strain 

Without the aid of balanced artifice. 

All hail, great poet ! 

SANCHO. 

Save you, my merry master ! Need you any leeks 



FIRM I LI AN. 113 

or onions ? Here's the primest cauliflower, though 
I say it, in all Badajoz. Set it up at a distance of 
some ten yards, and I'll forfeit my ass if it does 
not look bigger than the Alcayde's wig. Or would 
these radishes suit your turn ? There's nothing 
like your radish for cooling the blood and purging 
distempered humors. 

APOLLODORUS. 

I do admire thy vegetables much, 

But will not buy them. Pray you, pardon me 

For one short word of friendly obloquy. 

Is't possible a being so endowed 

With music, song, and sun-aspiring thoughts, 

Can stoop to chaffer idly in the streets, 

And, for a huckster's miserable gain, 

Renounce the urgings of his destiny? 

Why, man, thine ass should be a Pegasus, 

A sun-reared charger snorting at the stars, 

And scattering all the Pleiads at his heels— - 



114 FIRMILIAN. 

Thy cart should be an orient- tinted car, 
Such as Aurora drives into the day, 
AVhat time die rosy-fingered Hours awake — 
Thy reins — 

SANCHO. 

Lookye, master, I've dusted a better jacket than 
yours before now, so you had best keep a civil 
tongue in your head. Once for all, will you buy 
my radishes ? 

APOLLODORUS. 

No! 

SANCH©. 

Then go to the devil and shake yourself ! 

\Exit. 

APOLLODORTJS. 

The foul fiend seize thee and thy cauliflowers ! 



FIBMILIAK. 115 

I was indeed a most egregious ass 

To take this lubber clodpole for a bard. 

And worship that dull fool. Pythian Apollo ! 

Hear me — O hear ! Towards the firmament 

I gaze with longing eyes ; and, in the name 

Of millions thirsting for poetic draughts, 

I do beseech thee, send a poet down ! 

Let him descend, e'en as a meteor falls, 

Rushing at noonday — 

[He is crushed by the fall of the 
body of Haverillo. 



116 FIB MIL IAN. 



SCENE XL 

A Street. 

Miter two Gentlemen, meeting. 

FIBST GENTLEMAN. 

Save you, brave Cavalier ! 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

The like to you, sir. 
I scarce need ask where you have been to-day- 
All Badajoz was at the market-place. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

You mean the act of faith ? I was too late : 
Will you vouchsafe me some relation of it ? 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

I've seen a larger muster for the stake. 



FIRMILIAN. 117 

Bat never was the public interest 

Excited to so vehement a pitch. 

Men did not care for Jews or heretics, 

Though some of both descriptions were produced. 

The leading victim was the Graduate, 

Whose monstrous deed in blowing up the church, 

Whereby a thousand lives and more were lost, 

Stands } r et unequalled for atrocity. 

Faith, sir ! the Inquisition had hard work 

To guard him from his dungeon to the pile. 

When he came forth, from twenty thousand throats 

There rose so horrid and so fierce a yell 

That I was fain to hold my tingling ears. 

Mothers, whose sons had perished in the church, 

Howled curses at him : old men shook their fists 

With palsied vehemence ; and there were some 

Who carried naked daggers in their hands, 

And would have hacked him piecemeal. 



118 FIRMILIAN. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

And no wonder — 
'Twas a most horrid and unnatural deed ; 
My young remembrance cannot parallel 
A fellow to it. 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

Yet was lie quite calm : 
A little pale, perhaps, but noway moved 
By all their hooting. When he reached the pile, 
He craved permission of the Inquisitor, 
To say a word or two. That being granted, 
He turned him straightway to the raging crowd, 
Which, at his gesture, stilled itself awhile, 
And spoke in parables. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

How mean you, sir ? 
Did he confess his guilt ? 



FIRMILIAN. 119 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

In faith, not he ! 
His speech was worse than any commination. 
He curs'd the city, and he curs'd the church ; 
He curs'd the houses, and he curs'd their stones. 
He cursed, in short, in such miraculous wise, 
That nothing was exempted from his ban. 
Then, sir, indeed the people's wrath was roused, 
And a whole storm of cats came tumbling in, 
Combined with baser missiles. I was fain, 
Not wishing to be wholly singular, 
To add my contribution to the rest. 
Yet he cursed on, till the Familiars gagged him — 
Bound him unto the stake, and so he died. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

You tell the story very pleasantly. 

Were there no more of note in the procession ? 



120 FIBMILIAN. 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

There was a fellow, too, an Anabaptist, 

Or something of the sort, from the Low Countries, 

Rejoicing in the name of Teufelsdrockh. 

I do not know for what particular sin 

He stood condemned ; but it was noised abroad 

That, in all ways he was a heretic. 

Six times the Inquisition held debate 

Upon his tenets, and vouchsafed him speech, 

Whereof he largely did avail himself. 

But they could coin no meaning from his words, 

Further than this, that he most earnestly 

Denounced all systems, human and divine. 

And so, because the weaker sort of men 

Are oft misled by babbling, as the bees 

Hive at the clash of cymbals, it was deemed 

A duty to remove him. He, too, spoke 

But never in your life, sir, did you hear / 

Such hideous jargon ! The distracting screech 



FIKMILIAN. 1 2 I 

Of wagon-wheel ungreased was music to it ; 

And as for meaning — wiser heads than mine 

Could find no trace of it. 'Twas a tirade 

About fire-horses, jotuns, windbags, owls, 

Choctaws and horse-hair, shams and flunkeyism, 

Unwisdoms, Tithes, and [Inveracities. 

'Faith, when I heard him railing in crank terms, 

And dislocating language in his howl 

At Phantasm Captains, Hair-and-leather Popes, 

Terrestrial Law-words, Lords, and Law-bringers, — 

I almost wished the Graduate back again : 

His style of cursing had some flavor in't ; 

The other's was most tedious. By-and-by, 

The crowd grew restive ; and no wonder, sir ; 

For the effect of his discourse was such, 

That one poor wench miscarried in affright. 

I did not tarry longer. 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

Your narration 



122 FIR MI LI AN. 

Makes me regret less heartily the chance 

That kept me from the show. Is there naught eke 

Talked of in Badajoz? 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

Why, yes, sir — much, 
And of strange import : but the cautious lip 
Dares not, as yet, give utterance to its thought 
In the full measure. Death hath been amongst us, 
Not striking at the old, but at the young. 
In most unusual fashion. Three young men, 
All in strong health, untainted by disease, 
Died in a tavern. Marry, sir — 'tis thought 
Their cups were spiced. But a few days ago, 
Our most aspiring poet, Haverillo, 
Fell from St. Simeon's column — no one knows 
What took him to its top ; — another life, 
I hear, was lost in his abrupt descent, 
But no one could identify the corpse. 
Then there's a Priest amissing— these are things 



FIKMILIAN. 123 

Portentous in themselves, and very strange. 
Further, there's some slight scandal noised abroad 
About the niece of an Inquisitor — 
I name no names — who may have been, perchance, 
Somewhat too credulous. 'Tis a strange world ! 
Are you acquainted with Firmilian ? 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

But slightly, sir : I've held a bet or so 

With him upon the bull-fights. Why d'ye ask ? 

SECOND GENTLEMAN. 

Because (in confidence), I think 'twere wise 

To close your book with him. I heard it said, 

Not many days ago, that his old uncle, 

The Dean of Salamanca, had expired, 

And left him all his wealth. Heaven bless you, sir, 

I have a turn for genealogy, 

And, by my reckoning, he is no more kin 

To the old Dean than to the Holy Pope ! 



124 FIEMILIAN. 

I may be wrong, you know — but in such matters 
'Tis prudent to be sure. There are reports, 
On which I shall not dwell, which make me tlii nk 
Firmilian is not safe. You understand me ? 

FIRST GENTLEMAN. 

Your kindly hint hath found a ready way 
To a most anxious bosom ! Let us go 
Towards the Prado. I've a little tale 
To tell you of that same Firmilian. 

[Exeunt 



FIRMILIAN. 125 



SCENE XII . 

The Vaults of the Inquisition. 

The Inquisitors are seated on tenches. Behind 
them Familiars hearing torches. 

Throughout this Scene, distant peals of thunder 
heard. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

Would I could bid you welcome, brethren, here ! 
This wild derangement of the elements, 
These fiery gashes in the vault of heaven 
That stream with flame, and fright the astonied 

earth, 
Are not from natural causes: Hell is loose ; 
The Prince o' the Air hath called his legions up, 
And demons' wings are madly flashing by 
On hideous errantry ! There have been deeds 
Wrought here among us of so vile a sort — 



120 F IfiMILIA N . 

Such impious words have pierced the netherworld, 
That the fiends, starting from their sulphurous beds, 
Have answered to the summons ! 

OLD INQUISITOR. 

Such a night 
There hath not been since that in Wittemberg, 
When damned Faustus lost his wretched soul. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

Yea, reverend brother, it was even so, 

And, much I fear me, some in Badajoz 

Have, by their practice of unholy arts, 

Sinned worse than Faustus. Stand thou forth, 

Balthazar ; 
And tell us what thou knowest. 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

Most reverend sirs, 
I, and my fellow, Gil of Santillane, 



FIRMILIAN. 127 

Both sworn Familiars of this Holy office, 
Received of late commission to inquire 
Touching the trade of a suspected Jew. 
His dealing was in philtres, amorous drugs, 
Powders of mummy, amulets, and charms, 
All which we seized, and brought the caitiff here 
To be examined. When upon the rack, 
He, being urged by subtle questioning, 
Confessed that often-times he had procured 
Most strange material for a student's use — 
As skulls, thigh-bones, a murderer's wasted hand 
Hewn from the gibbet, and such other ware 
As sorcerers do employ. Besides these things, 
He owned that he had purchased from a Moor 
A curious work upon geometry, 
And sold it to Firmilian. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

Can the stars 
Retain their place within the firmament, 



12S FIKMILIAN. 

When wickedness like this is wrought below ? 
Proceed, Balthazar. 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

These particulars 
Being in their nature horrid and profane, 
Did Mordecai right cheerfully disclose. 
Yet we, remembering what the vnlgate saith, 
Touching the doubtful witness of a Jew 
Against a Christian, did esteem it fit 
To make more perquisition. For that end, 
I, and my comrade, Gil of Santillane, 
Sought out Firmilian's servant. Him we found 
Within a wine-shop — - 

OLD INQUISITOR. 

Mark that well, my masters ! 
For three score years and ten I've held my office, 
And never did I know the sorcerer yet 



F I E M I L I A N . 129 

Whose servant felt not a perpetual thirst. 
I pray you let that fact be noted down. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

It shall be noted. Well — what followed next? 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

Obedient to our orders, Gil and I, 

Albeit habitual shunners of the cup, 

Did somewhat deviate from our wonted rule, 

And made slight show of wassail. Whereupon, 

This Nicodemus, young Firmilian's knave, 

Did gradually to us some part disclose 

Of his employer's practice. 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

Did he so ? 
A servant's tale is damning evidence 
Against his lord ! What said this Nicoclemus? 
Stand down, Balthazar — Speak thou, Santillane. 



130 FIEMILIAN. 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

lie told ns this — that long ago, in Wales, 

His master had from one Plotinis learned 

Most wondrous secrets : that on Wednesday nights 

He was attended by an ugly imp, 

Whose outward apparition bore the stamp 

Of an enormous hedge-hog. 

OLD INQUISITOR. 

I remember 
The like was said of Paracelsus too, 
And of Cornelius. I myself have seen 
A hedge-pig suckled by a Moorish witch. 
That must have been about the year sixteen, 
Or two years later. Is it taken down ? 
For three score years and ten I've held my office, 
And never knew a necromancer yet 
But dealt in hedge-hogs ! Is it taken down ? 



FIRMILIAN. 131 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

It is, ray reverend brother. Santillane — 
On with your story. 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

Warily he talked 
Of magic circles, skulls, and fumigations — 
Of the great Devil, and his sulphurous stench — 
Of phantom beavers, and of bottle imps ; 
The bare recital of which monstrous things 
Made each particular hair to stand on end, 
Like quills upon the fretful porcupine. 
I can depone no further. 

OLD INQUISITOR. 

Porcupines 
Are worse than hedge-hogs ! 



1 32 FIRMILIAN. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

Is this Nicodemus 
Still safe within your reach ? 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

Right holy sir, 
He is. We deemed it wiser to defer 
His capture till we knew your reverend pleasure, 
In case Firmilian might take sudden wing. 
Moreover, I have something yet to tell, 
Which, if not touching sorcery, may lean 
To worse than heresy. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

Thy care is great. 
Thou art our best Familiar ; and I think, 
E'en as thou speak'st, and lettest out the truth, 
The frightened fiends desert the upper sky 
And calm their thunder down. Say out thy say. 



FIRMILIAN. 133 

FIRST FAMILIAE. 

I pray your reverend worships to believe 

I act not as spy. 'Tis not for me 

To mark the twinkling of a lady's fan, 

To lurk behind church pillars, or to note 

The course of fervid glances. Such things lie 

Beyond my office ; and I know full well 

That they are oftentimes assumed to hide 

Most faithful service to our Holy Church ; 

And, therefore, I repeat, I am no spy. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR. 

I have still found thee — as the Church hath done — 

Discreet within thy function. Didst thou know 

Aught that might appertain to one of us, 

Or to the honor of our nearest kin, 

I do believe that thou wouldst rather dare 

Expose thyself upon the stretching rack 

Than speak out openly. 



134 FIRMILIAN. 

SEVERAL INQUISITORS. 

We do believe it ! 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

Therein you understand me thoroughly. 
I am the poor Familiar of this House, 
And for the movements of such holy sirs, 
And of their households, have no eyes at all, 
Save at their pleasure. But Firmilian's case 
Demands a full divulgement. 

OLD INQUISITOR. 

Yery right ! 
I gather from this talk there's something wrong 
About Firmilian's morals. I have been 
For three score years and ten Inquisitor : 
And always have observed that heretics 
Are faulty in their morals. Tell us all. 



FIRMILIAN. 135 



FIRST FAMILIAR. 



Three weeks ago — 'twas but a week before 

The death of the three students — there appeared 

Within a lonely cottage in the wood, 

Hard bordering on the skirts of Badajoz, 

An Indian maiden. She was dark as night, 

And yet not unalluring, as I heard 

From Santillane, my comrade — 

SECOND FAMILIAR. 

Holy sirs, 
I swear such language ne'er escaped my lips ! 
I only said that in a heathen's eye 
She might find favor. 

OLD INQUISITOR. 

Doubtless so she would. 
I do remember, fifty years ago, 
A very comely damsel of that kind, 



130 FIRM ILIA N. 

Purveyed, I think, from inner Africa — 
I never saw a more voluptuous shape. 
But to your story — 

FIRST FAMILIAR. 

Every clay since then 
Hath young Firmilian stolen to her bower 
With utmost secresy. What passeth there 
I know not. But men say she sings by night 
Mysterious ditties in an unknown tongue, 
Of such unnatural and thrilling sort, 
That the scared nightingales desert their boughs, 
And evil birds of omen flit around 
To list the Indian's music. 

CHIEF INQUISITOR 

Is it so ? 
That shall be also looked to needfully. 
The fiend hath many snares, and it may be 
That, in the likeness of a dusky queen, 



F I R M I L I A X . 137 

He sends an agent hither. What I know 
Of this Firmilian makes me fear the worst : 
Yet it were wise to wait. I'll set a trap 
Shall lure him to his ruin. Go we hence ; 
And in the inner casket of our hearts 
Be all our secrets locked. Put out the lights ! 
[The torches are extinguished. 



138 F t R M I L I A N 



SCENE XIII. 
Among the Mountains. 

Miter Fikmiltan. 

Why should I strive to comprehend the charm 

Of savage nature, or to fill my mind 

With thoughts of desolation, meanly filched 

From those rude rocks, and chasms, and cataracts ? 

Why, none but fools affect to seek them now 

For the mere sense of grandeur. To a painter, 

Yon crag might seem magnificent indeed, 

With its bold outline. A geologist 

Would but regard it as a pillar left 

To mark some age that was pre- Adamite, 

And, with his hammer, excavate the bones 

Of brutes that revelled in the oozy slime, 

Ere yet a bud had burst in Eden's bower. 



FIRMILIAN. 139 

Here is a terrace on the mountain side, 

As stately as the eve£watched approach 

Unto the palace of the greatest king. 

Your man of science cares not for its sweep, 

Nor aught around that might attract the eye ; — 

He calls it a sea-margin, and exhumes 

The withered fragment of a cockle-shell, 

In proof of his averment, with more pride 

Than if he stumbled on a costly gem. 

O, there is room for infinite debate 

In a stray boulder; and the jagged streak 

Upon the surface of a harmless stone, 

May be the Helen to some future host 

Of glacier-theorists ! 

Such men are wise. 
Thev overlook the outward face of things ; 
Seek no sensation from the rude design 
Of outward beauty ; but fulfil their task 
Like moles, who loathe the gust of upper air, 
And burrow underneath ! 



140 FIRMILIAN. 

Tliree days have I 
Been wandering in this desert wilderness 
In search of inspiration. Horrid thoughts, 
Phantasms, chimseras, tortures, inward spasms, 
Disordered spawn of dreams, distracting visions, 
Air-shrieks and haunting terrors were my aim — 
Yet nothing comes to fright me ! How is this ? 
Grant that my former efforts were in vain ; 
At least the death of yon poor Haverillo 
Might be a mill-stone tied around my neck, 
And sink me to despair ! It is not so. 
I rather feel triumphant in the deed, 
And draw fresh courage from the thought of it. 
Were all my creditors disposed like him, 
Methinks the sunshine would be warmer still ! 
Hold — Let me reckon closely with myself ! 
Could my weak hand put back the clock of time 
To the same point whereon its index lay 
When first the thought of murder crossed my soul- 
Could I undo, even by a single word, 



FIRM I LI AN. 141 

All my past actings, and recall to life 

The three companions of my earlier years — ■ 

The nameless crowd that perished in the church — 

The guileless poetaster — and the rest 

Who indirectly owe their deaths to me — 

Would I exert the power ? Most surely not. 

Above the pool that lies before my foot 

A thousand gnats are hovering — an hour hence 

They'll drop into the mud ! Should I lament 

That things so sportive, and so full of g^ee, 

So soon must pass away ? In faith, not I ! 

They all will perish ere the sun goes down, 

And yet to-morrow night that self-same pool 

Will swarm with thousands more. What's done, is 

I'll look on it no further. [done. 

But my work — 
That grand conception of my intellect, 
Whereby I thought to take the world by storm — 
That firstling of my soul — my tragedy — 
What shall become of it? 



142 FIRMILIAN. 

Alas ! I fear 
I have mista'en my bent ! What's Cain to me, 
Or I to Cain ? I cannot realize 
His wild sensations — it were madness, then, 
For me to persevere. Some other bard 
With weaker nerves and fainter heart than mine 
Must gird him to the task. Tis not for me 
To shrine that page of history in song, 
And utter such tremendous cadences, 
That the mere babe who hears them at the breast, 
Sans comprehension, or the power of thought, 
Shall be an idiot to its dying hour ! 
I deemed my verse would make pale Hecate's orb 
Grow wan and dark ; and into ashes change 
The radiant star-dust of the milky- way. 
I deemed that pestilence, disease, and death, 
Would follow every strophe — for the power 
Of a true poet, prophet as he is, 
Should rack creation ! 

Get thee gone, my dream — 



FIKMILIAN. 143 

My long-sustaining friendj>f many clays ! 
Henceforth my brain shall be divorced from thee, 
Nor keep more memory of the wanton past 
Than one who makes a harem of his mind, 
And dallies with his thoughts like concubines ! 

Yet something must be done. 'Twere vile for me 
To sink into inaction, or remain 
Like a great harp wherein the music lies 
Un wakened by the hand. What if I chose 
A theme of magic ? That might take the ear, 
For men who scarce have eyesight to discern 
What daily passes underneath their nose, 
Still peer about for the invisible. 
'Twere easy now to weave a subtile tale 
Of ghosts and goblins, mermaids, succubi, 
Mooncalves and monsters — of enchanted halls, 
Wide-waving tapestry, haunted corridors — 
Of churchyards shadowed by mysterious yews, 
Wherein white women walk and wring their hands — 
Of awful caverns underneath the sea, 



144 FIRMILIAN. 

Lit by the glimmer of a demon's eyes — 

Of skeletons in armor, phantom knights 

Who ride in fairy rings — and so revive 

The faded memories of our childish years 

"With richer color. Bah ! — the time is past 

When snch-like tales found audience. Children now 

Are greatly wiser than their fathers were, 

And prattle science in the nursery. 

Kaw-head-and-bloody-bones no longer scares 

The inmate of the cradle into rest ; 

And that tremendous spectre of the North, 

The chimney-haunting Boo-man comes no more, 

With hideous answer, to the nurse's call. 

Yet something do I know of magic too, 

And might have further sounded in its deep, 

But for the terror that o'ermastered me 

In my first essay. Scarcely had I read 

Ten lines of incantation, when a light, 

Like that of glow-worms pastured upon graves, 

Glared from the sockets of a fleshless skull, 



F1RMILIAN. 145 

And antic shapes ran howling round the ring, 
And scared me to distraction. With the fiend 
I'll have no further traffic ; for I dread 
Both him, and that which is opposed to him, 
The ruthless Inquisition. I'll no more 
Of magic or its spells ! 

What other theme 
Lies ready to my hand ? what impulse stirs 
My being to its depths, and conjures up 
(As the young nymphs from sacred fountains rose) 
The best and fairest shapes of poetry ? 
Why — love, love, love ! — the master of the world- — 
The blind impetuous boy, whose tiny dart 
Is surer than the Parthian javelin — 
Love, whose strong best all living things obey — 
Love, the lord-paramount and prince of all 
The heroes of the whirling universe. 
Was it not love that vanquished Hercules, 
What time he writhed in Dejanira's gown ? 

Was it not love that set old Troy on flame, 

7 



146 FIRMILIAN. 

Withdrew Achilles from the Grecian camp, 
And kept Ulysses bound in Circe's bower ? 
Was it not love that held great Samson iirm 
Whilst coy Delilah sheared his lusty locks, 
And gave him powerless to the Philistine ? 
Was it not love that made Mark Antony 
Yield up his kingdoms for one fervid kiss 
From Egypt's ripest Queen? What better theme 
Could be proposed than this ? A graduate I, 
And an expert one too, in Cupid's lore — 
What hinders me to raise a richer song 
Than ever yet was heard in praise of love ? 
Let the cold moralists say what they will, 
I'll set their practice boldly 'gainst my verse, 
And so convict them of hypocrisy. 
What text-books read their children at the schools? 
Derive they Latin from a hymnal source, 
Or from the works of rigid anchorites? 
Not so ! That hog of Epicurus' stye, 
The sensuous Horace, ushers them along 



FIRMILIAN. 117 

To rancid Ovid. He prepares the way 
For loose Catullus, whose voluptuous strain 
Is soon dismissed for coarser Juvenal. 
Take we the other language — Is there much 
Of moral fervor or devout respect 
That can be gleaned from old Anacreon's lays, 
Or Sappho's burning starts ? What pious lore 
Can the alembic of the sage extract 
From the rank filth of Aristophanes ? 
Is Lucian holy reading ? And, if not, 
Why, in the name of the old garden-god, 
Persist they in their system ? Pure indeed 
Must be the minds of those compelled to wade 
Through all the dunghills of antiquity, 
If they escape without some lasting stain. 
What do our moralists ? To make things clear 
Which otherwise might 'scape the youthful sense, 
They write Pantheons — wherein you may read, 
In most exact and undisguised detail, 
The loves of Jove with all his relatives, 



148 FIRMILIAN. 

Besides some less conspicuous amours 

With Danae, Europa, and the like. 

What merrier jests can move the schoolboy's spleen, 

Than the rich tale of Vulcan and of Mars ; 

Or Apollo, when, in hot pursuit 

Of Daphne, 'stead of tresses in his hand, 

He found a garland of the laurel leaves ? 

Well-thumbed, be sure, the precious pages are 

That tell of Venus and of Mercury ! 

And shall the men, who do not shrink to teach 

Such saving doctrine to their tender sons, 

Accuse me if I shrine the same in verse, 

And with most sweet seductive harmony, 

Proclaim the reign of Love o'er all the world ? 

Henceforward then, avaunt, ye direful thoughts 
That have oppressed the caverns of my brain ! 
I am discharged from guilt, and free from blood 
Which was but shed through misconceived desire ! 
How glorious is the lightness of the soul 
That gleams within me now ! I am like one 



FIRMILIAN. 140 

Who, after hours of horrid darkness passed 

Within the umbrage of a thunder cloud, 

Beholds once more the liquid light of day 

Streaming above him, when the splendid sun 

Calls up the vapors to his own domain, 

And the great heap moves slowly down the vale, 

Muttering, in anger, for its victim lost ! 

Now could I roll, as gaily as a child, 

On the fresh carpet of the unsown flowers — 

Now could I raise my voice in innocent glee, 

And shout from cataract unto cataract — 

But that a single thought disturbs me yet ; 

My vow to Mariana — Will she bear 

That frank communion which I must achieve 

Ere yet my song is perfect? She is proud, 

And somewhat overbearing in her walk, 

Yet there's no woman past the power to tame. 

A Count of Stolberg once, — a wedded man, 

Whose restless disposition drove him on 

To wear the cross, and fight in Palestine — 



150 FIRM I LI AN. 

Was taken captive by an Emir there, 

And 'scaped from prison solely by the aid 

Of the one daughter of his enemy. 

Tis said that, when he brought the damsel home, 

The Christian matron no remonstrance made, 

But took her, like a sister, to her heart, 

And the blest three lived on in unison. 

Why should I not revive the earlier days ? 

Why should the stately Mariana look 

More coldly upon Lilian, or that flower 

That I have gathered from the Afric plains, 

Than Rachel on her handmaid ? I can quote 

Sufficient texts to still her first harangue, 

If she be angry. Will she so endure ? 

Kind Cupid, aid ! In this, I must be sure ! 

{Exit. 



FIKMILIAN. 151 



SCENE XIV. 
A Garden. — Firmilian. Mariana. 

FlEMILIAN. 

My Mariana ! 

MARIANA. 

O my beautiful ! 
My seraph love — my panther of the wild — 
My moon-eyed leopard — my voluptuous lord ! 
O, I*tim sunk within a sea of bliss, 
And find no soundings ! 

Firmilian. 

Shall I answer back ? 
As the* great Earth lies silent all the night, 
And looks with hungry longing on the stars, 



152 FIKMILIAN. 

Whilst its huge heart beats on its granite ribs 
With measured pulsings of delirious joy — 
So look I, Mariana, on thine eyes ! 

MARIANA. 

Ah, dearest, wherefore are we fashioned thus ? 
I cannot always hang around thy neck 
And plant vermilion kisses on thy brow ; 
I cannot clasp thee, as yon ivy bush — 
Too happy ivy ! — holds, from year to year, 
The stalwart oak within her firm embrace, 
Mixing her tresses fondly up with his, 
Like some young Jewish maid with Absalom's. 
]S r ay, hold, Firmilian ! do not pluck that rose ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Why not ? it is a fair one. 

MARIANA. 

Are fair things 



FIRMILIAN. 153 

Made only to be plucked ? O fie on thee ! 
I did not think my lord a libertine ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Yet, sweetest, with your leave I'll take the rose, 
For there's a moral in it. — Look you here. 
'Tis fair, and sweet, and in its clustered leaves 
It carries balmy dew : a precious flower, 
And vermeil- tinctured, as are Hebe's lips. 
Yet say, my Mariana, could you bear 
To gaze for ever only upon this, 
And fling the rest of Flora's casket by ? 

MARIANA. 

No, truly — I would bind it up with more, 
And make a fitting posy for my breast. 
If I were stinted in my general choice, 
I'd crop the lily, tender, fresh, and white, — 
The shrinking pretty lily— and would give 

Its modest contrast to the gaudier rose. 

7 



154 FIKMILIAN. 

What next ? some flower that does not love the day, 
The dark, full-scented night-stock well might serve 
To join the other two. 

FIRMILIAN. 

A sweet selection ! 
Think'st thou they'd bloom together on one breast 
With a united fragrance ? 

MARIANA. 

Wherefore not ? 
It is by union that all things are sweet. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Thou speakest well ! I joy, my Mariana, 

To find thy spirit overleaps the pale 

Of this mean world's injurious narrowness ! 

Never did Socrates proclaim a truth 

More beautiful than welled from out thy lips — 

" It is by union that all things are sweet." 



FIRMILIAN. 155 

Thou, darling, art my rose — my dewy rose — 
The which I'll proudly wear, but not alone. 
Dost comprehend me ? 

MARIANA. 

Ha ! Fir mill an — 
How my eyes dazzle ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Let me show you now 
The lily I have ta'en to bind with thee. 

[He brings Liu an from the Summer-house. 

MARIANA. 

Is this a jest, Firmilian ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

Gould I jest 
With aught so fair and delicate as this ? 
Kay, come — no coyness ! Both of you embrace. 



156 FIRMILIAN. 

Then to my heart of hearts — 

MARIANA. 

Soft you a moment ! 
Methinks the posy is not yet complete. 
Say, for the sake of argument, I share 
My rights with this pale beauty — (for she's pretty ; 
Although so fragile and so frail a thing, 
That a mere puff of April wind would mar her) — 
Where is the night-stock ? 

Firmilian brings Indiana from the tool-house. 

Here! 

MARIANA. 

A filthy negress ! 
Abominable ! 

LILIAN. 

Mercy on me ! what blubber lips she has ! 



FIRMILIAN. 157 

MARIANA, furiously tO FIRMILIAN. 

You nasty thing ! Is this your poetry — 

Your high soul-scheming and philosophy ? 

I hate and loathe you ! {To Indiana.) — Eival of 

my shoe, 
Go, get thee gone, and hide thee from the day 
That loathes thine ebon skin ! Firmilian — 
You'll hear of this ! My brother serves the king. 

LILIAN. * 

My uncle is the chief Inquisitor, 

And he shall know of this ere curfew tolls ! 

What ! Shall I share a husband with a coal ? 

MARIANA. 

Right, girl ! I love thee even for that word — 
The Inquisition makes most rapid work, 
And, in its books, that caitiff's name is down ! 



158 FIRMILIAN. 

FIRMILIAN. 

Listen one moment ! "When I was a babe, 
And in my cradle puling for my nurse, 
There fell a gleam of glory on the floor, 
And in it, darkly standing, was a form — 

MARIANA. 

A negress, probably ! Farewell awhile — 
When next we meet — the faggot and the pile ! 
Come, Lilian ! 

[Exeunt. 

INDIANA. 

I shake from head to foot with sore affright — 
What will become of me ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

Who cares ? Good night ! 

[Scene closes. 



FIRMILIAN 



159 



SCENE XV. 

A Barren, Moor. — Night — Mist and fog. 

Enter Fermilian. 
They're hot upon my traces ! Through the mist 
I heard their call and answer — and but now, 
As I was crouching 'neath a hawthorn bush, 
A dark Familiar swiftly glided by, 
His keen eyes glittering with the lust of death. 
If I am ta'en, the faggot and the pile 
Await me ! Horror ! Kather would I dare, 
Like rash Empedocles, the Etna gulf, 
Than writhe before the slaves of bigotry. 
Where am I ? If" my mind deceives me not, 
Upon that common where, two years ago, 
An old blind beggar came and craved an alms, 
Thereby destroying a stupendous thought 



160 FIEMILIAN. 

Just bursting in my mind — a glorious bud 
Of poesy, but blasted ere its bloom ! 
I bade the old fool take the leftward path, 
Which leads to the deep quarry, where he fell- 
At least I deem so, for I heard a splash — 
But I was gazing on the gibbous moon, 
And durst not lower my celestial flight 
To care for such an insect-worm as he ! 

How cold it is ! The mist comes thicker on. 
Ha ! — what is that ? I see around me lights 
Dancing and flitting, yet they do not seem 
Like torches either — and there's music too ! 
I'll pause and listen. 

Chorus of Ignes Fatui. 

Follow, follow, follow ! 
Over hill and over hollow ; 
It is ours to lead the way, 
When a sinner's footsteps stray — 
Cheering him with light and song, 



F I R M I L I A N . 161 

On his doubtful path along. 

Hark, hark ! The watch-dogs bark. 
There's a crash, and a splash, and a blind man's cry, 
But the Poet looks tranquilly up at the sky ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Is it the echo of an inward voice, 
Or spirit-words that make my flesh to creep, 
And send the cold blood choking to my heart ? 
I'll shift my ground a little — 

Chorus of Ignes Fatui. 

Flicker, nicker, flicker ! 
Quicker still, and quicker. 
Four young men sate down to dine, 
And still they passed the rosy wine : 
Pure was the cask, but in the flask 
There lay a certain deadly powder — 
Ha ! his heart is beating louder ! 
Ere the day had passed away, 



162 F 1 K M I L 1 A N . 

Garcia Perez lifeless lay ! 
Hark ! his mother wails Alphonzo, 
Never more shall strong Alonzo 
Drink the wine of Ildefonso. 

FIRMILIAN. 

O horror ! horror ! 'twas by me they died ; 
I'll move yet farther on — 

Chorus of Ignes Fatui. 

In the vaults under 
Bursts the red thunder ; 
Up goes the cathedral, 
Priest, people, and bedral ! 
Ho ! ho ! ho ! ho ! 

FIEMILIAN. 

My brain is whirling like a potter's wheel ! 
O Nemesis 



F I K M I L I A N . 163 

Chorus of Ignes Fatui. 

The muses sing in their charmed ring, 
And Apollo weeps for him who sleeps, 
Alas ! on a hard and a stony pillow — 
Haverillo ! Haverillo ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

I shall go mad ! 

Glwrus of Ignes Fatui. 

Give him some respite — give him some praise — 
One good deed he has done in his days ; 
Chaunt it, and sing it, and tell it in chorus — 
He has flattened the cockscomb of Apollodorus ! 

FIRMILIAN. 

Small comfort that ! The death of a shard-beetle, 
Albeit the poorest and the paltriest thing 
That crawls round refuse, cannot weigh a grain 



164 



FIRMILIAN 



Against the ponderous avalanche of guilt 
That hangs above me ! O me miserable ! 
I'll grope my way yet further. 

Chorus of Ignes Fatui. 

Firmilian ! Firmilian ! 

What have you done to Lilian ? 
There's a cry from the grotto, a sob by the stream, 
A woman's loud wailing, a little babe's scream ! 

How fared it with Lilian, 

In the pavilion, 

Firmilian, Firmilian ? 

FIRMILIAN. 

Horror ! I'm lost ! — 

Chorus of Ignus Fatui. 

Ho ! ho ! ho ! 
Deep in the snow 
Lies a black maiden from Africa's shore ! 



FIRMILIAN. 165 

Hasten and shake her — 
You never shall wake her — 
She'll roam through the glens of the Atlas no more ! 
Stay, stay, stay ! 
This way — this way — 
There's a pit before, and a pit behind, 
And the seeing man walks in the path of the blind ! 
[Firwjaats falls into the quarry. The Ignes 
Fatiti dance as the curtain descends. 



THE END. 



J. S. REDFIELD, 

110 AND 112 NASSAU STREET, NEW YORK, 

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*%, 



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NOTES AND EMENDATIONS OF SHAKESPEARE. 

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d/SS^ 



THE HISTORY OF THE CRUSADES. 

By Joseph Francois Michaud. Translated by W. Robson, 3 vols. 
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yffa 



MARMADUKE WYVIL. 

kxs. Historical Romance of 1651, by HeNry W. Herbert, author 
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LIFE IN THE MISSION. 

Life in the Mission, the Camp, and the Zenana. By Mrs. Coliu 
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%+, 



WESTERN CHARACTERS. 

Western Characters ; being Types of Border Life in the Western 
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■* 



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"' Chanticleer' has won the public heart, both by the felicity of its subject, and the 
grace, wit, and goodness, displayed in its execution." — Southern Literary Gazette. 

" It possesses literary merit of the highest order, and will live in the affections of all 
readers of good taste and good morals, not only while Thanksgiving dinners are rem* m 
bered, but while genius is appreciated."— Morning News, Savannah. 



REDFIELD S NEW AND POPULAR PUBLICATIONS. 



LORENZO BENONI; 

Or, Passages in the Life of an Italian. Edited by a Friend. One 
vol., 12mo; price $1.00. 

" The author of the volume is Giovanni Ruffini, a native of Genoa. Being implicated 
in the attempt at revolution in 1833, he was compelled to seek safety in flight, and has 
since that period resided in England and France. Under fictitious names he gives an 
authentic history of real characters and true incidents. It is a graphic picture of Italian 
life and habits ; and a true, though mournful exhibition of the baneful effects of des- 
potic rule, and priestly control in education." — Norfolk (Va.) Herald. 

" From the first page to the last, it absorbs the reader's faculties with the intensity of 
its interest, and leaves him little consciousness outside the circle in which its characters 
have their being. Yet over the whole work there broods such a terrible shadow of 
despotism and the suffering it has caused, that its fascination is of a strange and painful 
kind." — New York Daily Times. 

"This is one of the books occasionally met with, having a species of Tarantella power, 
charming the reader, and admitting of no cessation in its perusal, until the volume is en- 
tirely completed, leaving him even then like little Oliver, 'asking for more.' " — Ev. Post. 



GRISCOM ON VENTILATION. 

The Uses and Abuses of Air : showing its Influence in Sustaining 
Life, and Producing Disease, with Remarks on the Ventilation 
of Houses, and the best Methods of Securing a Pure and Whole- 
some Atmosphere inside of Dwellings, Churches, Workshops, &c 
By John H. Griscom, M. D. One vol. 12mo, $1.00. 

•'This comprehensive treatise should be read by all who wish to secure health, 
and especially by those constructing churches, lecture-rooms, school-houses, &c— It 
is undoubted, that many diseases are created and spread in consequence of the little 
attention paid to proper ventilation. Dr. G. writes knowingly and plainly upon this all- 
important topic." — Newark Advertiser. 

" The whole book is a complete manual of the subject of which it treats ; and we 
venture to say that the builder or contriver of a dwelling, school-house, church, thea- 
tre, ship, or steamboat, who neglects to inform himseli of the momentous truths it 
asserts, commits virtually a crime against society." — N. Y. Metropolis. 

" When shall we learn to estimate at their proper value, pure water and pure air, 
which God provided for man before he made man, and a very long time before he 
permitted the existence of a doctor ? We commend the Uses and Abuses of Air to ouy 
readers, assuring them that they will find it to contain directions for the ventilation oi 
dwellings, which every one who values health and comfort should put in practice." — 
N. Y Dispatch. 



f^ 



HAGAR, A STORY OF TO-DAY. 

By Alice Caret, author of " Clovernook," «« Lyra, and Other 
Poems," &c. One vol., 12mo, price $1.00. 

"A story of rural and domestic life, abounding in humor, pathos, and that natural- 
ness in character and conduct which made ' Clovernook' so great a favorite last season. 
Passages in ' Hagar' are written with extraordinary power, its moral is striking and 
Just, and the book will inevitably he one of the most popular productions of the sea- 
son." 

" She has a fine, rich, and purely original genius. Her country stories are almost 
unequaled." — Knickerbocker Magazine. 

" The Times speaks of Alice Carey as standing at the head of the living female wri- 
ters of America. We go even farther in our favorable judgment, and express the opin- 
ion that among those living or dead, she has had no equal in this country ; and we know 
of few in the annals of English literature who have exhibited superior gifts of real pc 
etic genius."— Tht (Portland, Me. ) Eclectic. 



REDFIELDS NEW AND POPULAR PUBLICATIONS. 



POETICAL WORKS OF FITZ-GREENE HALLECK, 

New and only Complete Edition, containing several New Poems, 
together with many now first collected. One vol., 12mo M price 
one dollar. 

"Halleck is one of the brightest stars in our American literature, and his name is 
ftke a household word wherever the English language is spoken."— Albany Express. 

"There are few poems to be foundj" in any language, that surpass, in beauty of 
thought and structure, some of these."— Boston Commonwealth. 

" To the numerous admirers of Mr. Halleck, this will be a welcome book ; for it is a 
characteristic desire in human nature to have the productions of our favorite authors 
in an elegant and substantial form." — Christian Freeman. 

" Mr. Halleck never appeared in a better dress, and few poets ever deserved a better 
one." — Christian Intelligencer. 



THE STUDY OF WORDS. 
By Archdeacon R. C. Trench. One vol., 12mo., price 75 cts. 

" He discourses in a truly learned and lively manner upon the original unity of lab 
guage, and the origin, derivation, and history of words, with their morality and sep- 
arate spheres of meaning. ' — Evening p-st 

" This is a noble tribute to the divin* faculty of speech. Popularly written, for uso 
as lectures, exact in its learning, and poetic in its vision, it is a book at once' for the 
scholar and the general reader." — New York Evangelist. 

" It is one of the most striking and original publications of the day, with nothing of 
hardness, dullness, or dryness about it, but altogether fresh, lively, and entertaining." 
— Boston Evening Traveller. 



tjH 



BRONCHITIS, AND KINDRED DISEASES. 

In language adapted to common readers. By W. W. Hall, M. D 
One vol., 12 mo, price $1.00. 

" It is written in a plain, direct, common-sense style, and is free from the quackery 
which marks many of the popular medical books of the day. It will prove useful to 
those who need it." — Central Ch. Herald. 

" Those who are clergymen, or who are preparing for the sacred calling, and public 
speakers generally, should not fail of securing this work." — Ch. Ambassador. 

" It is full of hints on the nature of the vital organs, and does away with much super- 
stitious dread in regard to consumption." — Greene County Whig. 

•' This work gives some valuable instruction in regard to food and hygienic 
<snces."— Nashua Oasis. 



*&> 



KNIGHTS OF ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND SCOTLAND. 
l3y Henry William Herbert. One vol., 12mo., price $1.25. 

" They are partly the romance of history and partly fiction, forming, when blended, 
portraitures, valuable from the correct drawing of the times they illustrate, and interest- 
ing from their romance." — Albany Knickerbocker. 

" They are spirit-stirring productions, which will be read and admired by all who 
are pleased with historical tales written in a vigorous, bold, and dashing style." — Boston 
Journal. 

" These legends of love and chivalry contain some of the finest tales which the 
graphic and powerful pen of Herbert has yet given to the lighter literature of the day.* 
-Detroit Free Tress. 



redfield's new and popular publications. 

A STRAY YANKEE IN TEXAS. 

A Stray Yankee in Texas. By Philip Paxton. With Illuatra 
tions by Darley. Second Edition, 12mo., cloth. $1 25. 

" The work is a chef d'ceuvre in a style of literature in which our country has nc 
rival, and we commend it to all who are afflicted with the blues or ennui, as an effec- 
tual means of tickling their diaphragms, and giving their cheeks a holyday.'' — Boston 
Yankee Blade, 

" We find, on a perusal of it, that Mr. Paxton has not only produced a readable, but 
a valuable book, as regards reliable information on Texan affairs. — Hartford Christian 
Secretary. 

" The book is strange, wild, humorous, and yet truthful. It will be found admirably 
descriptive of a state of society which is fast losing its distinctive peculiarities in the 
rapid increase of population." — Arthur's Home Gazette. 

" One of the richest, most entertaining, and, at the same time, instructive works one 
could well desire."— Syracuse Daily Journal. 

" The book is a perfect picture of western manners and Texan adventures, and wiB 
occasion many a hearty laugh in the reader." — Albany Daily State Register. 



* 



NICK OF THE WOODS. 

Nick of the Woods, or the Jibbenainosay ; a Tale of Kentucky. By 
Robert M. Bird, M. D., Author of "Calavar," " The Infidel," 
&c. New and Revised Edition, with Illustrations by Darley. 1 
volume, 12mo., cloth, $1 25. 

" One of those singular tales which Impress themselves in ineradicable characters 
npon the memory of every imaginative reader." — Arthur's Home Gazette. 

"Notwithstanding it takes the form of a novel, it is understood to be substantial truth 
in the dress of fiction ; and nothing is related but which has its prototype in actual 
reality." — Albany Argus. 

•'It is a talf»©f frontier life and Tndian warfare, written by a masterly pen, with its 
scenes so graphically depicted that they amount to a well-executed painting, at once 
striking and thrilling."— Buffalo Express. 



* 



WHITE, RED, AND BLACK. 

Sketches of American Society, during the Visits of their Guests, by 
Francis and Theresa Pulszkt. Two vols., 12mo., cloth, $2. 

•' Mr. Pulszky and his accomplished wife have produced an eminently candid and 
judicious book, which will be read with pleasure and profit on both sides of the Atlan- 
tic." — New York Daily Times. 

" The authors have here furnished a narrative of decided interest and value. They 
have given us a view of the Hungarian war, a description of the Hungarian passage tc 
this country, and a sketch of Hungarian travels over the country." — Philad. Christian 
Chronicle. 

" Of all the recent books on America by foreign travellers, this is at once the most 
fair and the most correct."— Philad. Saturday Gazette. 

"Unlike most foreign tourists in the United States, they speak of our institutions, 
mariners, customs, &c, with marked candor, and at the same time evince a pretty thor 
ough knowledge of our history." — Hartford Chiistian Secretary. 

"This is a valuable book, when we consider the amount and variety of the informs 
Hon it contains, and when we estimate the accuracy with which the facts are detailed. 
— Worcester Spy 



REDFIELD S NEW AND POPULAR PUBLICATIONS. 



LEE'S TALES OF LABOR. 



SUMMERFIELD ; 

Or, Life on a Farm. By Day Kellogg Lee. One vol., 12mo; 
price $1.00. 

" We have rend it with lively and satisfied interest. The scenes are natural, the char- 
acters homely and life-like, and the narrative replete with passages of the profoundest 
pathos, and incidents of almost painful interest. Above all, ' Summerfield' is in the 
deepest sense religious, and calculated to exert a strong and wholesome moral influence 
on its readers, who we trust will he many." — Horace Greeley. 

" It aims to teach the lesson of contentment, and the rural picture which it draws, and 
the scenes of home happiness with which it makes us acquainted, are well calculated to 
enforce it." — Atlas. 

" There is a great deal of life and nature in the story, and in some of the scenes there 
is a rich display of wit." — Albany Argus. 

'• It has a flavor of originality, and the descriptions are generally excellent; and, what 
is something; of a peculiarity at present in writing of this kind, not overburdened with 
words." — Literary World. 



*M 



THE MASTER BUILDER; 

Or, Life at a Trade. By Day Kellogg Lee. One vol., 12mo; 

price $1.00. 

" He is a powerful and graphic writer, and from what we have seen in the pages of 
the ' Master Builder,' it is a romance of excellent aim and success." — State Register. 

" The ' Master Builder' is the master production. It is romance into which is instilled 
the realities of life ; and incentives are put forth to noble exertion and virtue. The 
story is pleasing— almost fascinating; the moral is pure and undefiled."— Daily Times. 

" Its descriptions are, many of them, strikingly beautiful ; commingling in good pro- 
portions, the witty, the grotesque, the pathetic, and the heroic. It may be read with 
profit as well as pleasure." — Argus. 

" The work before us will commend itself to the masses, depicting as it does most 
graphically the struggles and privations which await the unknown and uncared-for 
Mechanic in his journey through life. It is what might be called a romance, but not of 
love, jealousy, and revenge order." — Lockport Courier. 

" The whole scheme of the story is well worked up and very instructive."— Albany 
Express. 




MERRIMAC; 

Or, Life at the Loom. By Day Kellogg Lee. One vol., 12mo ; 
price $1.00. 

" A new volume of the series of popular stories which have already gained a well - 
deserved reputation for the author. As a picture of an important and unique phase of 
New England life, the work is very interesting, and can scarcely fail of popularity among 
the million." — Harper's Magazine. 

" The work is extremely well written. It is as interesting as a novel, while it is natu- 
ral as every-day life." — Boston Traveller. 

" Merrimac is a story which, by its simple pathos, and truthfulness to nature, will 
touch the heart of every reader. It is free from the least tinge of that odious stilted 
style of thought and diction characteristic of the majority of the novels with which the 
reading public are deluged." — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

" Another plain, straightforward, absorbing work from a pen which before has added 
riches to our literature, and honor to him who wielded it."— Buffalo Express. 

" It is written in a genial spirit and abounds in humor." — N. Y. Courier and Enquirer. 



REDFIELD'S NEW AND POPULAR PUBLICATIONS. 

' SIMMS 7 REVOLUTIONARY TALES. 

UNIFORM SERIES. 

New and entirely Revised Edition of William Gilmore Simms' 
Romances of the Revolution,, with Illustrations by Darley. 

Each complete in one vol., 12mo, cloth ; price $1.25. 

I. THE PARTISAN. III. KATHARINE WALTON. (In press.) 

II. MELLICHAMPE. IV. THE SCOUT. (In press.) 

V. WOODCRAFT- (In press.) 

"The field of Revolutionary Romance was a rich one, and Mr. Simms has worked it 
admirably." — Louisville Journal. 

" But few novelists of the age evince more power in the conception of a story, more 
artistic skill in its management, or more naturalness in the final denouement than Mr 
Simms." — Mobile Daily Advertiser. 

" Not only par excellence the literary man of the South, but next to no romance writer 
in America." — Albany Knickerbocker. 

"Simms is a popular writer, and his romances are highly creditable to American 
literature." — Boston Olive Branch. 

"These books are replete with daring and thrilling adventures, principally drawn 
from history." — Boston Christian Freeman. 

" We take pleasure in noticing another of the 6eries which Redfield is presenting to 
the country of the brilliant productions of one of the very ablest of our American 
authors — of one indeed who, in his peculiar sphere, is inimitable. This volume is a 
continuation of 'The Partisan.' " — Philadelphia American Courier. 

ALSO UNIFORM WITH THE ABOVE 

THE YEMASSEE, 

A Romance of South Carolina. By Wm. Gilmore Simms. New 
and entirely Revised Edition, with Illustrations by Darley. 12mo, 
cloth; price $1.25. 

" In interest, it is second to but few romances in the language ; in power, it holds a 
high rank ; in healthfulness of style, it furnishes an example worthy of emulation."— 
Greene County Whig. 



SIMMS' POETICAL WORKS. 

Poems: Descriptive, Dramatic, Legendary, and Contemplative. 

By Wm. Gilmore Simms. With a portrait on steel. 2 vols., 

12mo, cloth; price $2.50. 

Contents : Norman Maurice ; a Tragedy. — Atalantis ; a Tale of the Sea. — Tales and 
Traditions of the South. — The City of the Silent — Southern Passages and Pictures. — 
Historical and Dramatic Sketches.— Scripture Legends.— Francesca da Rimini, etc. 

•'We are glad to see the poems of our best Southern author collected in two hand, 
some volumes. Here we have embalmed in graphic and melodious verse the scenic 
wonders and charms of the South; and this feature of the work alone gives it a per- 
manent and special value. None can read ' Southern Passages and Pictures' without 
feeling that therein the poetic aspects, association, and sentiment of Southern life and 
ecenery are vitally enshrined. 'Norman Maurice' is a dramatic poem of peculiar scope 
and unusual interest; and 'Atalantis,' a poem upon which some of the author's finest 
powers of thought and expression are richly lavished. None of our poets offer so great 
a variety of style or a more original choice of subjects." — Boston Traveller. 

"His versification is fluent and mellifluous, yet not lacking in point of vigor when an 
energetic style is requisite to the subject." — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

"Mr. Simms ranks among the first poets of our country, and these well-printed 
volumes contain poetical productions of rare merit." — Washington (D. C.) Star. 



















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